The Stars Just Blink for Us
by doctorhoolovesyou
Summary: Because when they run together, their contradiction defies time to make way for the universe. A collection of Eleven/River oneshots set to a variety of song lyrics, all varying in timeline, character study, and adventure.  Hope you enjoy and review!
1. The Stars Just Blink for Us

Disclaimer: I own nothing, all characters belong to the BBC.

**So I've written a few stories that are set to go along with music, please review and tell me what you think, and if people seem to like them I'll keep posting. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

><p>The Stars Just Blink For Us-Say Hi to Your Mom<p>

_My girl oh well she drives me where I need to go  
><em>_She needs some man and she's got a gun  
><em>_Sometimes when we play games she cheats and I let it go  
><em>_I'm the most lucky man I know  
><em>

_Oh and the stars, oh  
><em>_Oh and the stars  
><em>_Well they don't make no fuss  
><em>

_Oh and the stars, oh  
><em>_Oh and the stars  
><em>_Well they just blink for us_

* * *

><p>"River," he sighed. She looked at him from across the console room, perched lightly on the railing. She leaned back, one hand clamped tight on the iron to keep her balance and the other caressing the barrel of the gun that lay in her lap. She tried hard to keep from laughing-his aversion to her gun-wielding never got old.<p>

"What?" River asked, amused, trailing her fingers over sleek metal.

"You know exactly what," he said, crossing the room to approach her. "That...thing. There's no place for it in here. The TARDIS is a gun-free...zone."

"Oh? Says who?"

"Says me!" The Doctor reached out to tear the gun from her grasp, but River anticipated him and twirled it into its holster.

"Happy?" She cocked one eyebrow playfully at him, though whether it was in submission or triumph he was not sure. "I don't know why you're so against her. She's saved your life countless times."

"Her? You're calling it a she, now? Don't tell me you've named it."

"Her," she corrected. "And no, I wouldn't do that. Name her, I have to name the rest of them. Don't want to pick favorites." The Doctor shrugged in defeat, walking back to the console and leaned over the atom accelerator, hands fiddling with the controls. River pushed herself off the railing to stand beside him. "Oh dear, we're a crotchety old man today, aren't we?"

He turned to her with one finger raised for emphasis, and said, "I'll have you know I might have the mind of a 900-year-old man but I've the soul of a five-year-old." He paused, watching as River's smile grew into an impish smirk. "No, wait, that's not what I meant."

She reached across him and hit the bell, sending a ding to echo throughout the console room.

"Hey, don't touch that, you'll steer her off course!"

"So the TARDIS gets a pronoun, but not my gun?" River put a defiant hand on her hip as she stared at him for an answer.

"That's not the same, not at all. The TARDIS is a being, she's living, she's got a soul. A gun, well," he waved his hand in disgust. "A gun's just a piece of metal with the innate capacity to kill an innocent being."

"Are you saying that the Dalek from the Pandorica was an innocent being? And I shouldn't have shot it? Or the Silence from 1969?"

"No of course not, that's different, that's..." he trailed off, unable to formulate a response.

"Oh sweetie, I know you don't carry or use a gun, but let's be honest." She inched closer to him, whispering the perfectly enunciated rest of the sentence in his ear. "You kind of like it."

The Doctor felt a smile creep onto his face, his eyes glowing deviously as he placed his hands on her hips. "A bit," he admits. "Bit more than I should, really." River wrapped her arms around his neck as she continued to stare him down with a look of pure lechery and poor intent.

"Doctor Song," he said. "That's quite a look you've got there."

"Only for you, honey," she replied.

He moved one hand lower on her side and she shuddered in both pleasure and surprise as he gripped her tightly. "Doctor!" River gasped.

He brought the other hand behind her back to push them closer as he pulled her into a kiss. She reacted hungrily and was thoroughly distraught when he broke away quickly.

"What's wrong, Doctor?"

He let go of her, a childish grin erupting on his chiseled features. "Gotcha," he said. In his left hand, he twirled the gun which he had niftily extracted from its holder. The Doctor then dropped it on the ground and kicked it with his foot's sole to the other side of the glass floor.

"Doctor, you bad old boy."

He laughed heartedly as he walked back to face her, scooping her up in a kiss that left them both breathless.

"Nice try though," she announced after regaining her breath. "Thing is, Doctor." She paused, reaching one hand behind her to pull yet another gun from the back of her waistband. "I always keep a spare."

And then the gun was tossed to the side as she pulled him close by the tweed lapels of his jacket, pressing their bodies closer in another kiss. She clenched her fists tightly in the rough fabric as she wrenched their bodies downwards to the floor. She rolled them over so that she lay atop him, then proceeded to kiss him deeper. He gripped her shoulders and broke their kiss abruptly.

"River Song," he beamed, his voice barely above a whisper. "You bad, bad girl."


	2. Boats and Birds

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the writing, all characters belong to the BBC.

**So I've written a few stories that are set to go along with music, please review and tell me what you think, and if people continue to like them I'll keep posting. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Boats and Birds-Gregory and the Hawk<p>

_I live to let you shine  
><em>_I live to let you shine  
><em>

_You can sky rocket away from me  
><em>_And never come back if you find another galaxy  
><em>_Far from here, with more room to fly  
><em>_Just leave me your stardust to remember you by._

* * *

><p>They gazed out into the night sky, the cool grass an odd contrast to the heated air surrounding them. It was impossibly humid, the pair contracting sweat in the various dips and edges that patterned their bodies. The sun was long gone and the thing still keeping them hot was the pure moisture collected in the air.<p>

The Doctor looked up at the sky, a thousand wishes splayed across the dark ceiling of the world. He stared at them, the stars, galaxies and light-years away, though seemingly close enough to touch.

"Stars are really just burning balls of gas, you know." He turned his head to face River, gazing at the young, beautiful profile that lay beside him. "That is, if they're still burning. Most of the ones we're seeing have burnt out by now. Just the last lights to go out."

She lolled her head to the side, her eyes blazing back at his with youthful haughtiness. "I'm not stupid, Doctor. I know my astronomy."

"Do you," he laughed amusedly, less of question and more of a statement.

_And now he's doing it again, that thing_, she thought. _Like he knows me too well, knows exactly what I'm thinking_. She pursed her lips and pushed herself up on one elbow, her blonde curls falling into her face. He reached up and tucked them away with a soft smile, then lay his hand back on his chest as he closed his eyes.

"I do, in fact," she retorted. "But I'll be honest," she replied, sighing. "Who knew burning balls of gas could be so beautiful?"

With that, she lay back down and nestled close to him so that his arm encompassed the crook of her neck. Her hair brushed against his chin and he breathed in the familiar scent of her-except this time it wasn't as familiar. Sure, she smelled like and definitely _was_ River, but it was like she just...wasn't done yet. He opened his eyes again and lost himself in the stars, longing for and missing someone curled right up beside him. _How lonely_, he thought, _to be missing someone lying next to you_.

"Doctor, I have a question for you," she declared. She nudged her hair away so that she was looking him in the eyes, then continued. "What are you thinking of _right_ now?"

He hesitated, caught slightly off-guard by her strangely intimate question. "That's awfully personal," he replied.

"Well?"

He sighed, deciding on what would be the right thing to say. "Well _right_ now, I'm thinking about...I'm thinking about you. And about how incredibly happy I am to have known you." She sighed contentedly, a sign for him to resume his star-gazing. He hadn't lied. That's exactly what he was thinking about, only it wasn't so much her but more of a future her, of a more complete her. Of _his _her.

He thought of his River, most likely holed up in her cell at Stormcage, her diary in hand as she furiously reads the night away. He thought fondly of her knowing eyes and her womanly curves, the two things he'd spent a large amount of time resisting.

The silence enveloped them, his mind drifting to ponder the music that night is. The rising and falling symphony of choices and mistakes, all blended in an infinite amount of glorious moments. He sighed again, breathing in the air around them, trying to remember that their time will come and he should keep himself here for the now, because too soon he knows it will be a memory. Too soon it will be a window in time, something that was but never is.

He let his eyes take in the stars raining down above them, and grinned to himself as he looked up at the moon. It seemed to be smiling down at them, an ancient laugh etched in the craters of an old man's face.

"Oh Doctor," she breathed. "Want to know what I'm thinking?"

He stayed quiet, knowing she'd tell him with or without his acknowledgment. "I'm thinking about how before you, I always told myself that I wouldn't spend my life waiting." She paused a moment, turning her eyes back up to the night sky. "But then I met you, and it seems that all I do now is wait. And you too. I can see a spark of it in your eyes sometimes when you think I'm not looking, it's like you're waiting for something or someone. Who are you waiting for?"

He cupped his hand into the curve of her waist and pulled her closer, kissing her forehead softly. He said nothing, his other hand finding her lonely one in a tight embrace. He leaned his head against hers, and together they gazed up at the pattern of stars that seemed to go on forever.


	3. Your ExLover is Dead

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the writing, all characters belong to the BBC.

**Please review and tell me what you think, and if people continue to like them I'll keep posting. Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy!**

**Also, this is one of the ones I wasn't so sure of posting, but I promise the next ones will be much better written and generally better.**

* * *

><p>Your Ex-Lover is Dead-Stars<p>

_Nothing but time and a face that you'll lose  
><em>_I chose to feel it and you couldn't choose  
><em>_I'll write you a postcard, I'll send you the news  
><em>_From the house down the road from real love  
><em>_  
>Live through this and you won't look back (x3)<em>

_There's one thing I have to say so I'll be brave  
><em>_You were what I wanted  
><em>_I gave what I gave  
><em>_I'm not sorry I met you_

* * *

><p>"It's funny, though, Doctor." River looked at him from the doorway, leaning her weight against the side of one post. "I spend so much time waiting for you, and I hate you for it, really I do, but just this once...you have to wait for me."<p>

"I don't understand," he responded.

"The most intelligent being in the universe, they say. Well darling, I have class in an hour and I want my doctorate, so I've got to go it."

He leaned his body against the opposite post and popped her nose endearingly. "Time machine, remember? I can have you back in an hour. Hell, I can have you back in five minutes."

She laughed at this, throwing her head back, and suddenly she was all-too reminiscent of future her. Her laugh was confident and booming, with the twinge of allure that always seemed to keep him on edge. She shook her head at him, smiling fondly.

"I can't, Doctor. You're always late."

"Not always," he huffed.

"Yes, always. Besides, I'm growing bored of waiting around for you. It's about time you wait around for me. I don't want to waste my life away, hoping you'll stop by on a whim."

"It's never just a whim with you, River." He moved closer, placing his thumb on her chin, and stared at her lips. "Come with me."

"No," she said. It was less playful this time and had a harsher tone to it. "Not this time."

She drew herself away from his touch and took a step back into her room. "I think you should go," she said. He stared at her incredulously, bewildered and slightly hurt.

"River," he cooed, making a movement to brush her shoulder. She shrugged herself away from him, her face now filled with a somber expression masking her defined features. "River, what's wrong?"

"Doctor, I've been thinking," she said. "About you. About us...and whatever we are."

"Oh?"

She looked at him, trying to decipher his blank expression. _He was so good at that sometimes_, she thought, _but I'm learning_. "I think you should not stop by for while."

"What?" The Doctor's eyes were now glazed over with worry, and she could almost _feel_ his need to reach out and grab her to make sure she was okay.

"I don't want you to control my life, Doctor. I get so angry at you sometimes, when you look at me like I'm a _child_, because the thing is, I'm not. The cradle-robber status has been accomplished already, we get that. But when you look at me it's like you know everything, and I suddenly don't have secrets anymore. Or you take me away and I just leave everything, and my professors are left to worry and tisk because I've missed _another_ lecture, and what can I say to them? 'Sorry, was just out for a little spin to Florence, 1570.' No!"

She was breathing heavily now, emotions spewing out of her, a mix of rage and distress and utter desperation.

"I wasn't always like this, you know. I could stand on my own two feet. Then you came along, you impossible man. You dropped out of the sky and me? Well, I never stood a chance. Do you have any idea how mad you make people to themselves when you're around?"

And then he was holding her, his arms caressing her sobbing figure with constant rubbing motions. He rocked her back and forth, letting her cry hard into his shoulder, ignoring the wetness forming on his skin. After a few minutes, she pulled away from him, eyes red and mascara running. She wiped the circles underneath her eyes with the palm of her hand.

"I really hate you," she said.

He smiled at her, gently took one hand in his, and said, "No you don't."


	4. Dustbowl Dance

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the writing, all characters belong to the BBC.

**Please review and tell me what you think and if enough people like this maybe I'll start taking song requests? Thanks again for the kind reviews, and I hope you enjoy this next one!**

* * *

><p>Dustbowl Dance-Mumford &amp; Sons<p>

_I placed all my trust at the foot of this hill  
><em>_And now I am sure my heart can never be still  
><em>_So collect your courage and collect your horse  
><em>_And pray you never feel this same kind of remorse._

_Seal my heart and break my pride  
><em>_I've nowhere to stand and now nowhere to hide  
><em>_Align my heart, my body, my mind  
><em>_To face what I've done and do my time._

* * *

><p>River lifted her head up from the book she was studying, her eyes blazing directly through the bars of her cell to find the source of the '<em>vworp, vworp'<em> noise she was hearing.

"The brakes," she muttered, smiling to herself despite the painfully screechy sound. _He always forgets the brakes_.

She lay the book down beside her on the bed, then reclined back against the wall behind her. She brought her knees up and then folded them underneath her, arms crossed, with a complacent simper plastered on her face. She patiently waited for the thud of the wooden doors, knowing that the Doctor's figure would appear soon after. His footsteps were louder than they should be and rather rushed, vying quickly to get to where she sat incarcerated.

"Hello, sweetie," she said as she watched his face come into view. He walked straight to the front of the cell, but paused instead of opening the door.

"River," he replied. His voice was hollow, emotionless. She hated when he got like this, all broody and unreadable. She bit her lip to avoid complaining, and rested quietly for him to speak again.

"I need to know," he said. "I need to know who you are." She sighed, slightly upset that this was such a young version of him. She hadn't seen her Doctor in quite a while.

"Spoilers, Doctor."

He smacked his hand against one bar of the cell, sending a sharp pang to reverberate off the walls. River straightened up in surprise, the violent action rendering her in shock. This was unexpected-this was not like her Doctor.

"Why won't you tell me who you are?" He hissed this barely above a whisper, his impatience now bleeding through on his face. He waited for her response, and gaining none, continued. "Who did you kill?"

She shook her head solemnly. She couldn't tell him, not now. Besides, he was going to find out soon enough. It hurt her to think he was hurting, dying to know all these secrets that replayed over and over again in her mind every day. It hurt her to think he wanted to know '_why, why, why'_ so badly, for the time would come when he would wish to never remember.

"Do let me keep _some_ secrets from you, Doctor," she said as she cocked one eyebrow ambiguously. "I can bet the other ones will come in due time." Upon eliciting no response, River continued. "I'm not going to tell you."

"Then why won't you come with me?" His question hung in the air, anticipating a reply. "Why stay here, when I can offer you the universe?"

At this, she got up from her bed to cross the cell. She moved herself to stand right in front of him, gripping two bars as she stared into his eyes. "Because, Doctor," she started. "I've got to keep my promises."

"Your promises to who?"

She nodded downwards, placing one hand lightly on his chest. "To myself. If I didn't, Doctor, well...I don't think you could ever love a murderer."

"Staying here won't change whatever it is that you've done."

"No," she sighed. "But telling myself I have to just might."

"You can't change the past, River." He looked down at her, his anger now lightly glazed over with a dash of melancholy.

"No," she said. "But you can shape the future."

He stared at her for a little while, mind swirling, trying to contemplate the woman standing before him. Her curls encircled her face in a loving caress, resting on the precise edges of her cheekbones. He had the strange longing to run his fingers across them, to feel the contradiction of soft skin covering the sharpness underneath.

She released another sigh, her shoulders sagging downwards as she dropped her hand from his chest. "I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help," she responded, walking back to the bed. She picked up the book, then tossed it at him. He caught it, looking down at the cover.

"This is Old High Gallifreyan," he whispered.

"Look at you, deducing and whatnot. Just wait until we stop in for tea with Arthur Conan Doyle-he was a cheeky one, the dear." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, finished it, so I'm returning it back to you."

He mumbled something incoherent then said, "Well, thanks."

She winked at him. "Anytime."

He slowly turned away from the cell and slumped back to the TARDIS, fingering the cover of the book she had given him. She was a mystery, he realized. And a good thing too, because he loved himself a good mystery.


	5. 505

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the writing, all characters belong to the BBC.

**You've all been very sweet and I'm so happy people are enjoying these! Thanks again for reviewing (truly I live for your reviews), and I hope you enjoy this next one!**

* * *

><p>505-The Arctic Monkeys<p>

_But I crumble completely when you cry  
><em>_It seems like once again you've had to greet me with goodbye  
><em>_I'm always just about to go and spoil the surprise  
><em>_Take my hands off of your eyes too soon.  
><em>

_I'm going back to 505  
><em>_If it's a seven-hour flight  
><em>_Or a 45-minute drive  
><em>_In my imagination you're waiting lying on your side  
><em>_With your hands between your thighs  
><em>_And a smile._

* * *

><p>The Doctor watched as a flash of blue light streaked by them, narrowly missing River's elbow. He grabbed the back of her shoulders and threw her to the ground, then wrenched himself to the right allowing them to tumble down the hill accordingly. She held tight to him, jagged rocks and wet grass spiking their bodies as dirt clung to their damp skin and dirty clothes.<p>

They came to a halt at the bottom of the hill and he clasped one of her hands as he yanked her forward, sending them running. He turned his head sharply upon seeing an alley, jerking her in front of him as he whispered urgently, "Run!"

She took off and he followed, the pair ignoring the angry shouts coming from the mouths of the soldiers. He could tell she was limping on her right and tried hard not to focus on the trail of blood that was falling from her side. He directed the barriers in his mind, fighting viciously to refrain from thinking about the pain she must be feeling.

"Take a left," he hissed, motioning to a new street. They turned onto a dirt path and flew as fast as they could from the city, their chests heaving and eyes stretched wide open.

"There," he panted, pointing to the blue rectangular figure that was effectively coming into view. She changed directions to angle herself better, running straight towards the TARDIS. He ran up right along side her, and upon reaching the TARDIS, elbowed the door open as they rushed in to the console room. Once inside, he ran up to the console and starting dialing in coordinates.

She shut the doors behind her and collapsed on the floor, tightly clutching her abdomen. She let out a wail of repressed pain and then clumsily got up, staggering forward to the console. She made her way over to him, attempting to lean on him for support, then fell back to the glass floor as she coddled her side.

"Help me, Doctor," she gasped. "I can't-" And then she was silent, the darkness engulfing her.

When she woke up, the Doctor was rocking back and forth in the chair beside her bed. She was bundled up in the covers, and although the dried blood and dirt was gone, she could feel the developing bruises that ached all over her body.

The Doctor looked at her with an impossible amount of worry in his eyes, eager to see her awake again. He leaned forward and brushed the hair from her face, his thumb resting on clammy skin. She closed her eyes, this time with a soft smile, and allowed herself to drift off to dream.

He watched her sleep, not wanting to tear his eyes away from the rising and falling of her chest, time ticking by as he sat beside her bed. He finally looked away, glancing down at the white sheets as he trailed his hands across them.

They were soft-just like he remembered. The last time he had felt these sheets they had been tangled up inside them, breathing and panting and loving together. He looked down at her longingly, her now-even breathing a small comfort to him. He watched her lips release a small puff of air and then take it in again, this cycle a subtle reminder that she was okay, that she was all right. For now, anyway.

He tore himself away from her bed, returning to sink back into his seat beside her. He continued to gaze at River, his mind wandering off to one specific memory.

This time they had been young lovers, so hungry to taste, touch, feel, and they had toppled onto the bed in a fury of heated passion. He had dragged his fingers hurriedly over her body, defying time and sense as he had fervently quested for the tiny crevasses of her figure; the ones that had made her squirm. He liked it when she would writhe underneath his fingertips or gasp out in pleasure-he loved to make her feel.

Because that was the most beautiful thing, he believed. To be able to make someone feel, and to make them feel so good and so much, well, that was truly beautiful. He could save the universe a hundred times over and vanquish gods and devils with the click of his fingers, but nothing made him feel more joy than to make someone else happy.

He smiled, enamored by her golden sweep of hair, allowing himself to greedily take in her slumbering form. _She's so beautiful_, he thought. _How lucky I am, to love someone so incredibly...incredible, but also just so beautiful_.

He paused, settling further into his chair. _And how lucky I am that she loves me_.


	6. The Sky

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the writing, all characters belong to the BBC.

**I have indeed finished a set amount of these, so there will continue to be daily updates. I'm very excited because from here on out I really like the ones I've done (am I allowed to admit that?) so if you've read thus far all I can say is thanks and get psyched for the coming ones. Please continue to make my day with your reviews and thanks for the support!**

* * *

><p>The Sky-The Novel Ideas<p>

_And you've been so good to me, but I've been so hard to read  
><em>_And your eyes speak for themselves, but your feet move closer still  
><em>_Every time you've touched me, I've found it hard to breathe  
><em>_If the sky would open up, maybe I'd be brave enough._

* * *

><p>He stopped in the archway of the doors, turning back to face her and the interior of the TARDIS. He regarded her thoughtfully, excitement and affection seeping out of his gaze, his mouth curved into an enthused smile.<p>

"Are you ready, Miss Song? Welcome," he motioned, waving his hand out the door as he pushed it open, "To the Marketplace of Savannah!"

First, she stumbled backwards, sunlight and warm air attacking her being. Then, she walked and stopped at the doorway, hands grasping at the two posts beside her. Last, she turned her head and smiled at the Doctor, who was waving his arms frantically as he sauntered away.

"Honestly, you'd better keep up," he shouted to her.

She ran out into this new world awestruck and with a heart erupting from happiness. Everywhere she looked there were people milling about, searching through bags and baskets as they made their way through the marketplace. There were hundreds upon hundreds of little stands, each selling their own unique item. Shiny trinkets and dried fruit hung from the rafters, complimented by beads and feathers twinkling in the wind as a small band of teenagers sat nearby, each playing a different homemade instrument. They, along with the laughter and cries from the people around them, made the music of the marketplace.

She quickly galloped over to where the Doctor was standing, fingering a small, transparent globe that rested on a dark wooden block. He ran his thumbs slowly across the surface, treasuring his little discovery.

"Look at this, River. Do you know what this is?" His voice was gleeful and young, pure enthusiasm rippling through every word. "Well?" He looked at her expectantly, waiting for an answer.

She shook her head. Even if she had known, she would never have taken the chance away from him to inform her, because that would mean missing the sheer exuberance and joy that would accompany his excited explanation. "Nope, sorry Doctor. What is it?"

"It's a snow-globe!" He flipped it over, and almost immediately the sphere turned an opaque purple, deep and majestic in color. "And look!" He turned it right side up again, the purple now falling from the top to become a rich midnight blue.

"Isn't that fantastic?" His words dripped with childish delight at his discovery. He looked at her patiently, willing her to respond.

"That's beautiful," she said.

"And there's a thousand things like it! Right here-this place is just brimming with human life and _beauty_."

She laughed lightheartedly, taking the globe from his grasp and placing it back on the stand. She nodded a silent _'thank you' _to the vendor, then pulled him along to look at the other sights.

By the end of the day, River was completely exhausted and pining for something to eat. She ushered him through the stands, making an effort to find a bit of food, but he wasn't having any of it.

The Doctor rummaged through everything he saw, each find eliciting a satisfied cry of surprise. Finally, she grabbed his arm and pushed him towards a food stand. He made only a small complaint before obeying and ordering them whatever food was native to the planet.

Once she had obtained her food, River intended to go back to the TARDIS and rest after their long, overwhelming day, but the Doctor proved to have other plans as he led them up a hill.

"Doctor," she said, more than slightly tiredly. "Where are you taking us?"

"Just wait," he replied. "You'll see."

She sighed deeply, annoyance starting to bubble up in her chest. She was exceedingly over-stimulated and the varied gamut of smells was starting to give her a headache, but she dared not complain. He had, as promised, taken her to a new world completely different than her own. He had promised her, the last time they had met, that he would show her the universe in its entirety. He'd already taken her to spaceships and Earth's past and future, but this was the first planet she had been on that was not her native one; at least as far as she could remember.

She was arrantly grateful for this trip and for everything he had let her experience. He was starting to make more sense now, her impossible man, and she was beginning to look forward to the things he assured her of-adventures, excitement, change. And he had brought her much of it all already, though now River was discovering she wanted something more.

It was in the way he looked at her when he thought she couldn't see, or the way fireworks erupted every time he held her hand. It was his desire to show her, to excite her, to help her live that made River feel increasingly attached to the Doctor. She wouldn't call it love-not yet. That would be much too rash, and River Song wasn't one for being rash. _But then again_, she thought to herself, _people can change_.

"Here," he declared, stopping them right atop a hill.

River gasped, looking down at the city, the marketplace now a good ways away from them, moving and living directly below them. She could see it in its totality, stretching miles and miles into the sun that was beginning to set. The colors and animation of the market were still clearly visible, the whole market seeming to smile and laugh as one being. She released a contented sigh, leaning her head on the Doctor's shoulder.

"It's beautiful," she whispered.

"Yeah," he chuckled softly. "Beautiful." He said the last word with such passion and belief that it nearly shook her to the core, until suddenly she realized he wasn't talking about the marketplace.

"Doctor." Her voice was still soft, though now a bit louder than a whisper. "Thank you."

"Oh, River."

"Really, thank you."

He smiled at her, his face filled with so much emotion she couldn't decode which one it was. There was happiness there, definitely, and maybe a sprinkling of love-is that what she saw? But there seemed to be an underlying sadness that she just couldn't shake from her sight, an inkling of sorrow that had made its way onto his darling features.

She reached up to touch his face, almost as if she could wipe away the misery he was trying to hide, and held her fingers there. His skin was hot to the touch, warm from the hours they had been wandering around with the sun overhead.

The light had succumbed to dusk now and the horizon was giving off a blazing glow of various oranges, pinks, and reds. The top of the sky was a few shades darker than eye-level, the darkness translating to the radiance of colors that was this alien sunset. She realized it was among the most beautiful things she had ever seen and she found no words to describe how alive she felt.

She looked away from the sky to gaze up at his eyes, attaining heartfelt appreciation and admiration within them. She leaned closer to him, tilting her head purposefully to the right, her lips within inches from his.

"River, I don't think-" He was interrupted by her fingers, pressing firmly down on his mouth's thin creases. Her eyes lit up with a twinge of mischief as she shushed him.

"Right now you don't have to." And then she moved forward into a kiss, her lips just lightly gracing his, a chaste but purely affectionate offering.

He didn't react immediately, which worried her slightly, until graciously accepting her kiss with his participation. He lifted his arms to her gently, as if afraid she might float away with a single touch, then held his hands on her shoulders as they kissed. They didn't move for quite a while, despite the cooling of the wind brushing past them, and when they did, River looked down to shield herself from the rejection she feared he might give.

He moved his thumb to angle her chin upwards, bringing her gaze back to his. He smiled softly, not broadly, but with a loving tenderness that left her breathless.

"It's a big day for firsts," she whispered.

He drew her close to him in a hug, resting his chin on the top of her head, attempting to disallow her from seeing the tears beginning to form in his eyes.

_And lasts_, he thought.


	7. Summertime

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the writing, all characters belong to the BBC.

**If you've read thus far all I can say is thanks and get psyched for the coming ones. This one is a bit short, so I do apologize, but the next one will be longer, promise. Please continue to make my day with your reviews and thanks for the support!**

* * *

><p>Summertime-Selah Sue<p>

_But do you feel alone,  
><em>_All by yourself?  
><em>_Or do you need something more?  
><em>_Do you feel alone  
><em>_And do you feel scared,  
><em>_Or do you need something more  
><em>_Than this?_

* * *

><p>"Doctor," she said, trailing her fingers down his chest.<p>

"Mm?" He was always incredibly drowsy postcoital, his eyelids drooping lazily off in a satisfied haze.

"I have a question for you." They had been lovers for a long while now, to both their combined joy and sadness, and were rather nearing close to a middle point in their timelines.

"Yes, River?"

She nestled into his arms, her body wrapped loosely in the white sheets of her bed, his body heat warming her bare figure. She rested her head in the crook between his shoulder and collarbone, tickling his skin with the blinking of her eyelashes.

She breathed him in, her senses engulfed by the smell of him-that smell, by _god_ did she love that smell. It lingered on her clothing when he was gone, sometimes leading her to not wash a certain shirt for days. That smell was her little secret, her very own piece of the Doctor that so few got to know. It was possible and incredibly likely that she was the only one who had ever known that smell, and that idea pleased her immensely.

"How can you stand it?"

"What?" He raised his voice the tiniest bit, confusion and worry making a small appearance.

"How can you stand being so lonely?"

He brought one hand to curl around her waist, bringing her closer to him, and lifted the other to the hand tracing his chest. He clasped it lightly, enjoying the sensation of her soft skin against his roughness.

"I've you," he replied. "I'm not lonely."

She tilted her head upwards, golden locks falling to the side, as she looked back at his face.

"Don't lie to me," she responded.

He breathed out a sorrowful sigh, tightening his grip on her hand. _I never could_, he thought. _You always know_.

"It's hard," he said. "Sometimes it's really, really hard." He paused briefly, his mind deep in thought. "Sometimes it makes it hard to let people in, because I know that in the end, no matter what we've been through, you break my heart. All of the glorious, marvelous, _fantastical_ human beings-who find someone else, or forget about me; always finding some way to leave."

She shifted her head slightly to better look at him, basking in the warmth and honesty he was exuding.

"But you have to, and I have to. You've all got to leave, because that's the way things are, and I've got to go on making new friends and greeting new faces." He sighed, his chest rising and falling with what seemed like a deep weight. "But the people I've met, well, you wouldn't believe. The best of the human race. And the worst, mind you, but truly. The best." The last words he whispered quietly, almost as if they were a secret with himself.

He took another breath before continuing. "And I know that there will always be more people out there, and more beautiful things to see. The universe isn't half as much fun by yourself, you know." At this, he kissed her forehead lightly, his lips brushing against blonde curls.

"So I travel on, because I have to, because people need me, and because I need people. Being the last of your species is a large burden to carry, but I've learned I don't have to carry it all by myself."

River smiled tenderly at him before responding. "No, you don't," she said.

He smiled back at her, pulling her closer yet again. "No," he said softly. And then he was kissing her, and she was kissing him, and they were rolling around together trying to forget that they were racing against time and bound to lose.


	8. What Sarah Said

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the writing, all characters belong to the BBC.

**If you've read thus far all I can say is I am enormously thankful and I love reading your reviews. Please continue to make my day with your reviews and thanks for the supportive feedback!**

* * *

><p>What Sarah Said-Death Cab for Cutie<p>

_In a place where we only say goodbye  
><em>_It stung like a violent wind that our memories depend  
><em>_On a faulty camera in our minds.  
><em>_But I knew that you were a truth  
><em>_I would rather lose than to have never lain beside at all._

* * *

><p>"Where are we, then?" River paused to rummage through her diary, her fingers tracing over the pages in a hurried quest to find the right one. "Atraxi 3?"<p>

"Yes, I've got Atraxi 3! Marvelous umbrellas, d'you remember?"

"Yes dear, you couldn't keep your eyes off them." She nodded happily, remembering.

"I mean, did you see them? Umbrellas...that _doubled_ as transporters! Brilliant!"

She laughed at him, glad to see his enthusiastic state. He flipped a few more pages over, then turned back to her.

"What about the Zygons? Have we met them?" He looked at her expectantly, watching her study her little blue book in eagerness. As she hesitated, he saw a small frown develop on her focused features.

"Sorry, sweetie, not yet. But the Zygons? That's a great name. Bet they're fantastic!"

The Doctor stared at her. He blinked furiously, his mind trying to make sense out of what she had just said. "What?"

"I said not yet. Sweetie, are you all right?" She glanced at him with an expression marked with concern, trying to distinguish the Doctor's thoughts. "Doctor?"

His head was spinning with a thousand different ideas, decidedly too many-even for a time lord. "I'm all right," he choked out. "Fine."

He tried to smile at her, tucking his true emotions out of sight. This was the first time, he realized, where he had known something before River. He knew this day was coming and how soon, but he hadn't really expected it to come this soon, or for it to hurt this much.

It wasn't troublesome that he knew something she didn't-in fact he kind of liked it, finally having superior knowledge to this woman who always had the upper hand. Recently they'd been incredibly in synch, but just how in synch he didn't know because he never had wanted to ask. It seemed that she hadn't either, so the pair had felt comfortable, just this once, to live a part of their lives in blissful ignorance.

Now, though, the Doctor remembered why he had never been one for ignorance-it made the inevitable realization that much harder. What this meant, his untimely more-knowledgable interaction, was that from now on he would be the leader in their relationship. She'd always be the aggressor, he didn't doubt that, but the time had come for him to take the reins, for him to whisper _'spoilers'_ into an anxious ear. This epiphany, this moment of sudden and too soon insight, nearly broke the Doctor's hearts.

She touched his hand lightly, yanking him back to reality, and he then became acutely aware that she was staring at him with a rather distraught countenance. "Doctor," she said quietly.

He realized that his reaction probably seemed odd to her, as this River had only known him as the all knowing one. Unexpectedly, the Doctor also realized he had irrevocably become the one man he had ever been unbearably jealous of. He had become future him, the Doctor that River seemed to know so well, the Doctor she would always call hers.

This insight was bittersweet, the idea that he had become hers as he had now lost his. His River, that delightfully infuriating woman, she was the River who knew everything and whispered _'spoilers'_ so often it had made him hate the word. And the Doctor loved words, he loved them more than comfy furniture, and thus his genuine loathing of the word was rather remarkable.

And then everything they had ever done together was flooding back to him, every run, every alien, every kiss. She was flooding his mind in a surge of incandescent memories, his eyes seeing the flip of golden hair around him and the curve of precise red lips into a smile. She was running, she was falling, she was shooting, and she was a baby, crying; picture-perfect moments replaying over and over again in his suddenly tiny head.

These remembrances caused his body to stop, paralyzing him with fear. Not because these moments were gone, but because they had now become memories, fleeting and ephemeral, taking up large amounts of space in his ever-curious mind. This meant that they would fade and he would forget, and nothing, absolutely _nothing_, scared him more than that.

But his fear didn't keep him from realizing something else, too-that no matter what might happen, he truly loved River and he had been utterly happy with her. All the things they had done, all of the adventures, well, they had all been worth it. It was worth it to feel that alive, even though it was almost over, and he instantaneously was reminded of something he once heard.

_'Alive,' she had said. 'Alive isn't sad,' he had responded, watching her gaze tearfully back at him. 'It's sad when it's over.'_

And he understood, then, what the TARDIS really meant.

He looked back at her, gulped once, and then continued to speak. "Where do you want to go today?"

She regarded him with a smidgen of relief, grateful to hear him speak again. "I was thinking a picnic."

"A picnic?" His face seemed to brighten at the prospect of an afternoon out, lying lazily in a planet's summer sunshine. "Love a picnic."

"I know," she grinned.

Though he returned her mien with a broad smile, the Doctor was growing increasingly more upset. _No_, he thought to himself. _You don't._

He opened his hand to grasp hers, lifting them from the table to walk to the TARDIS. The walk over appeared to take much longer than it should have, his many thoughts tuning River's chatter out. _You really don't know_, he thought. _And that's the saddest thing of all_.


	9. To Build a Home

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the writing, all characters belong to the BBC.

**Thanks again for all of the sweet reviews, you're continuing to inspire me to chug these out. I hope you keep reviewing and please please please if you have a suggestion for a song just put it in your comment and I'll write something along to it. Thanks guys, enjoy!**

* * *

><p>To Build a Home-The Cinematic Orchestra<p>

_By the cracks of the skin I climbed to the top,  
><em>_I climbed the tree to see the world.  
><em>_When the gusts came around to blow me down  
><em>_I held on as tightly as you held onto me,  
><em>_I held on as tightly as you held onto me._

_Cause I built a home  
><em>_For you,  
><em>_For me._

* * *

><p>The Doctor ducked low, defying the streaks that shot past his ear. One had grazed his elbow patches but spared his skin, blackening the tweed of his brown jacket. River was still standing sturdily, sonic blaster in hand, lights and lasers erupting around her. He couldn't see her face, shielded by her mass of wild curls, but caught a glimpse of her arms, steady and precise.<p>

"River," he shouted. "Get down!"

"Leave, Doctor, I've got them. I can hold them up-you need to get back to the TARDIS!" She continued to fire at the never-ending stream of soldiers that seemed to enter the room. She'd shoot and one would fall, only to be replaced by another and consequently another.

"I'm not leaving without you," he persisted. He fell swiftly to one side, dodging the bullets raining down around him.

"Doctor: this is not the time to be a saint, just go!"

The Doctor hesitated, considering his surroundings, his brain trying to figure out the easiest and safest route to escape. He glanced down underneath his legs and realized he was lying atop an air vent, the grating digging into his pant-legs.

"River I'm not going without you, so get the _hell_ over here before I shove myself down this vent and leave."

River's concentration never broke from the entering soldiers, but her breaths were growing staggered and heavy by the time she replied. "It's too dangerous; there's no chance I'll get over there without being hit. Now go!"

He strained to hear her shouts amid the blasting of gunfire, but the Doctor realized he wasn't going to win this fight. So he did the only thing he knew how to do in this situation-he cheated.

Sliding across the floor, he grabbed River's ankles and wrenched her to the ground. He pushed his body in front of hers in an act of protection from the bullets, and soon River was pulling herself along the floor army-style.

"You can't ever give in," she sniped, moving to position herself next to the grate. She slid it to the side, then dropped into the shaft and crouched low. Following her soon after was the Doctor, hunched over and gasping for air. "Doctor?"

"Keep...moving," he said, pointing one finger down the tunnel. She turned her body reluctantly in the desired direction and began to crawl, the gunfire and screams amplified in the narrow shaft and now positively deafening.

She crawled further and further away from the opening, her only sense of direction coming from the panting man behind her. She was interrupted by the Doctor's hand on her arm, motioning for her to look upwards. She obeyed him, her eyes going up to focus on an opening above them. She lifted her hands to the grating and pushed, but the metal wouldn't shove.

"It's not moving," she rasped. The Doctor whipped out his sonic, scanning the grate. Loud clanking sounds began to foster behind them, the scrunch of muddy boots against metal. "Doctor, I've think they've got in."

"Yes hold on, River."

He soniced the escape open and pushed himself up with immense difficulty, followed quickly by River's lean form.

"There," he pointed, his body angled towards the blue box that lay only a few feet away from them.

"You lucky bastard," she hissed.

He smiled despite himself and wandered over to the TARDIS, but not without difficulty. His last few steps took a tremendous amount of effort and then he was crashing through the doors onto the floor, his hand clasping at his torso.

River rushed in after him, shutting the doors, and hurriedly leaned over him, worry gracing her features.

"Not so lucky," he responded, his hands encountering a mess of blood.

She lifted herself from his side and ran up to the console, dialing in coordinates, before dashing back to the bleeding time lord.

"Doctor, it's me, it's River, I'm here. Tell me what you need!"

"Sick...bay," he gasped out before falling into a state of darkness.

River spent a massive amount of effort carrying the Doctor to the TARDIS sick bay, and once there, she had laid him down in a bed before collapsing on the floor into an exhausted heap. Regaining a bit of breath, she heaved herself up to care for the Doctor, unconscious and still bleeding. She looked up at the screen above the cot as she plugged him into the system, reprogramming the system for time lord DNA and not human-plus.

Once he was fully accounted for, River pressed in the aid needed for a gunshot wound and watched as the bed was engulfed in a field of light, golden nanongenes surrounding his wounded form. River positioned herself in a stance beside his bed, leaning slightly over it, dipping her fingers into the field for a few seconds to allow the nanogenes to cover her body and heal the scratches she had acquired from their day's adventure.

Now healthy and awake again, River kept her position next to the Doctor's bed as her eyes feasted hungrily over the Doctor's healing form.

She sniffed sadly to herself as she looked upon the Doctor, tears growing in her relieved eyes. _What would I have done_, she thought, _if you hadn't been all right?_

The gold light from the nanogenes illuminated the sharp edges of his cheekbones and displayed the subtle stubble that had formed on his chin, and it took all of her energy to restrain herself from brushing her fingers gently across it. She loved looking at him, especially in this regeneration. This time around, he looked so young. So so young, wrinkles not yet gracing the mask of youth or creasing the thin lips so perfectly inset in his face.

She liked this version because he was such a contradiction. He moved like a young man, seemed like one, and often talked like one, but she knew that every time she chanced to look him in the eyes she would see the existing wisdom that could only come from hundreds of years of living.

He was so old and looked so young, his chiseled features disguising the ancient man underneath them. He was such a contradiction-just, she realized, like them. Because when they do something for the first time it's also the last, and while she lives for the days when she sees him, there's never any guarantee that he'll know who she is. But when he does, that man, that impossibly _impossible_ man, he gives her the moon, the stars, and everything that has ever happened, is happening, or ever could.

And that's why she'll always love him, even when he looks right through her or says her name without a hint of the fondness she's so used to hearing. That's the sad truth, she's discovered. She's in love, sometimes, with a man who doesn't even know the half of her.

She must be mad, she reasons, to have fallen immutably in love with a paradoxical man who lives in a box and doesn't always love her back. But he's a mad man, and if she's mad too, well, they can be mad together. Two mad people madly in love, saving the universe just one more time.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a groan elicited from the Doctor's being, and River smiled relievedly down on the man who shifted underneath her gaze.

"Oh, Doctor," she whispered, bending down to kiss his forehead through the blaze of golden light.

But River was surprised to have the man tilt his head up to catch her lips with his, offering up a stolen kiss in gratitude. The Doctor pulled River weakly down onto the bed beside him, holding her in a light embrace as she stroked his chest both protectively and lovingly.

They lay in each others' arms for a while, quietly reassured, as they drifted off into a deep, restful state of dreaming.


	10. When We First Met

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the writing, all characters belong to the BBC.

**We've hit over 20 reviews! Thanks so much for all of the kind words, it really makes me want to keep writing. And for the user "Redflow," if you're willing to wait a bit I promise I'll ruffle something up for you. Please review and I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

><p>When We First Met-Hellogoodbye<p>

_As I kept track of every haircut that we ever had  
><em>_I could, I could see how long it had been, oh  
><em>_Oh, how long it had been.  
><em>_And this thought made it clearer:  
><em>_I ought to be nearer._

_All I see is where our days repeat,  
><em>_And our love goes on  
><em>_As our hair grows long._

* * *

><p>Standing alone in a large crowd of people, the Doctor fervently sought out his fearless companion. It had been a couple of hours since he last saw her and the Doctor was properly muddled. They had been out shopping to restock the TARDIS' kitchen when River had suddenly wandered away from him and disappeared in the throng, leaving him no knowledge or concept of her whereabouts.<p>

"River!" He called out to her, searching for the familiar mass of curls that would, by now, be no doubt deflated and losing their spring. He caught sight of them pulled tight into a ponytail, a choice less for style and more for convenience. The Doctor let out a sigh of relief and sauntered over to the being that possessed them, placed his hands on the slim waist, and said, "I've got a present for you."

The woman snapped around to push him away, pure fury etched on her face.

"Who the hell are you?"

The Doctor's expression went quickly from being incredibly pleased with himself to utter terror as he realized that this woman was not whom he had thought she was.

"Oh, I'm sorry...I." He blushed three different shades of red, each emanating from his newly-hot cheeks. They were recognized with a painful slap, sending his hands straight up to his face.

"What the _hell_?" He clutched his face in a moment of bemusement, thoroughly embarrassed. "Blimey, that's a slap," he screeched.

The Doctor felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to face River, who laughed back at him with two hands held on her hips amusedly. Though glad to see her, the Doctor couldn't help but feel his pride singed at his current state of discomfort.

"What have you done this time?" River asked him, the corners of her mouth turned up in a smile.

"The bastard puts his bloody hands on me, didn't you?" The woman standing next to them glared furiously at the Doctor, jabbing a finger pointedly into his chest.

"Could you _stop_," the Doctor cried, crossing his arms over his chest protectively. "It was an honest mistake."

"You'll bet your ass it was a mistake by the time I'm finished with you," the woman replied. She wound another hand back up to gain enough momentum to slap him again, but soon found her wrist held tightly by River who had presently stepped in between them.

"Now darling, I don't think he really meant anything by it. He's rather naive when it comes to these sort of things, trust me-I've tried." River winked as the Doctor flushed a few more colors, his hands still hovering over his front defensively as he stood sheepishly beside the two women.

"Get your hands off me," the woman retorted. River released her grasp and the woman consequently dropped her hand to her waist.

"Now I'd just run along if I were you," River said. "Don't want to cause anymore trouble, right?" She moved her dress discreetly to one side to flash the woman a show of both hip and gun, her head tilted defiantly to one side.

"Bloody idiots," the woman muttered under her breath before disappearing back into the sea of people.

River turned back to the Doctor with a smirk, her eyebrows arched up in a coquettish manner. "Sweetie, you really shouldn't go around cupping a feel with every lady you see. It's terribly pubescent of you."

The Doctor walked towards her steadily, one hand waving maniacally in the air. He stopped right in front of her and shook his sonic at her, his appearance creating that of an old man reprimanding a boldly disobedient child.

"Well, where exactly have you been for the past two hours? And the gun, always the gun...what is it with the gun?" He looked her squarely in the eye, testing her, only to be received with her continuous stare and an impish grin.

"Sorry darling, just mucking about. Needed a new pair of shoes." She held up the paper bag she was holding in her left hand, the store's insignia displayed brightly on the front. "As for the gun," she hesitated, taking a step closer and invading any personal boundaries set. "I like to keep things rough."

The Doctor tried to reply but nearly choked on his words, eyes bulging in both interest and shock. This River was rather young as far as their timestreams went and the Doctor was fairly sure they hadn't shared any kind of physicality yet. He paused, collecting his thoughts, trying hard to decide on a response that neither encouraged nor refused her.

She sighed disappointedly, obviously unhappy at his lack of sportive reaction. She reached down and took off her shoes, placing them in the bag, as she pulled out the new ones and put them on her feet. She loved herself a great pair of heels, River did.

"I've got something for you," he declared absentmindedly, diverting his gaze from the sweep of bare chest she had exposed upon bending down. "Here." He pulled a blue book out from one of the inside pockets of his tweed jacket before handing it over to her.

"A present? How unlike you." Although River attempted to keep her smug air about her, she couldn't help but smile fondly as he pushed the book towards her.

It was TARDIS blue, she realized, and heavier than it looked. The front was covered in little squares, embroidered in, and she ran her fingers over the raised borders of the shapes. She released a small gasp of delight as she recognized the familiarity of it, looking happily upon the TARDIS-like book she was currently holding. She opened it up and flipped through a few pages, only to discover countless empty white canvases. She closed her eyes and lifted it to her nose, admiring the blank pages' smell of new book, then looked back up to face the Doctor for an explanation.

"It's a diary. I want it to be your diary." He smiled back at her proudly, quite pleased with her enjoyment over his gift.

"A diary, Doctor? I'm not a teenager, you know."

"Oh I _know_," he countered. "But I want it to be your diary of us. Everything we do together, no matter how insane or terrifying or wonderful, I want you to write it all down so you'll never forget."

"I could never forget you, Doctor," she replied, lifting her hand to grace his cheek with her fingers. He smiled sadly down at her, his countenance unreadable but clearly troubled.

"I don't doubt that," he whispered, moving her fingers away and settling them at her side. The Doctor cleared his throat before continuing, his voice louder than before. "But I might, one day."

"What do you mean?" She gazed at him worriedly, unsure of how the conversation had taken such a serious turn.

"We're both time travelers, so we don't always meet up in the right order," he explained. "I want you to have these memories written down for those times when you need a little bit of reminding of who we are." As she gaped at him, the Doctor was hit with a memory of their last mostly-synched encounter.

_Laughter thundered out of River as he grabbed her book in tease, pretending to steal it away as they lay tangled in the sheets of his bed. Her smile curved up like one of her golden curls, wild and unmanageable. Once she pinned him down, one hand pressing his chest into the mattress and the other reaching for the book, she'd taken it back and gotten off him to lock it away._

_"Oh River, you're no fun." He pouted, unhappy at his loss of both the book and her warm body._

_"I've written everything down in there, dear, I haven't left out a thing-you wouldn't let me. So now I won't let you read it, just to get back at you."_

_And he laughed at her then, amused by her perception of vengeance but also at her simple explanation of their lives. Paradoxical, flirtatious, infuriating, and exciting: everything they were, are, and ever will be._

Interrupting his daydream, River made to speak, but he shook his head 'no' and pleaded with her to let him finish. "Do it for me, River. Write it all down, all of it. Don't leave out a thing."

And then he took her hand, silent, as he led them through the noisy crowd and back to the TARDIS.


	11. Between the Bars

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the writing, all characters belong to the BBC.

**Woohoo, another chapter! Thanks again for your thoughts and pretty please continue to review.**

* * *

><p>Between the Bars-Elliott Smith<p>

_People you've been before that you don't want around anymore,  
><em>_That push and shove and won't bend to your will,  
><em>_I'll keep them still._

_Drink up, baby, look at the stars:  
><em>_I'll kiss you again between the bars,  
><em>_Where I'm seeing you there with your hands in the air,  
><em>_Waiting to finally be caught._

* * *

><p>River chuckled to herself as she gazed down at the slumbering time lord beside her. He was snoring just the tiniest bit, as she knew him to do, and slyly slipped off her cot to waddle over to her clothes they had strewn around her cell. Outside it was raining lightly, the soothing sound of water converging against stone as the bars on her window cast habitual shadows on the walls. The cool air attacked her bare form and she shivered, bending down to pick up her dress before hugging it close to her front.<p>

She made her way back to her bed careful not to make any noise, aware of the camera lenses they had vandalized just hours earlier. She shook her head with a simper, nodding down at the man stretched comfortably on the mattress. This would be the fifth camera system they had broken and River was fairly certain the guards were starting to get restless at her antics. _Maybe they ought to watch next time_, she mused. _Might keep things interesting, plus that way I don't have to pay for another replacement...again._

The Doctor turned over in his sleep, muttering softly to himself, halting River's devilish thoughts. She pulled the dress over her body then leaned forward and grabbed her belt which had somehow ended up hanging precariously off the backboard of her bed.

Now clothed, River pondered what would be the most fun way to wake him. Her eyes lit up with a roguish glint and she leaned down to move her teeth to his ear. She tugged on it gently and he stirred, reacting and contracting his muscles in the sheet. He smiled softly, whispering, "Well hello, River."

She proceeded to take hold of the sheet and rip it off his body, forcing him to convulse in surprise and roll over, almost tumbling off the bed. He shot up quickly, rubbing his shoulders in a meager attempt to keep warm.

"Blimey, River! You could've just shook me awake or something."

She laughed at him but took pity on his shivering, picking up and throwing him his shirt and trousers. "It's more fun this way," she shrugged.

"And more cold," he responded.

"In more ways than one," she winked. She waited for him to get dressed before moving back to the bars of her door and sliding it open. "Time to go," she said.

"So soon?" He pulled his socks on slowly, taking his time lacing his boots with care and effort.

"It's always too soon, my love," she replied.

"Exactly," he breathed out, walking over to where she stood. He leaned one arm against the wall of the cell, striking a pose that was too nonchalant not to have been practiced.

"Go on." She smiled patiently at him and straightened his bow-tie before pulling him close for a kiss. He smiled against her lips and was pleased as she began to move him from the wall, but was thoroughly surprised as she shifted him out into the corridor.

She slid the door to the side, locking the barrier between them.

"Doctor Song, really," he started. "So eager for me to leave."

"As much as I love spending time with you," she motioned to the bed, watching as he blushed just the faintest shade of pink. "I've got things to do, people to see."

"Places to go?" The Doctor mocked.

"You'd be surprised the things we criminals get up to in prison." River raised an eyebrow, letting his imagination run away with him.

"All right, I'm leaving," he turned away to head back to the TARDIS.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?"

He smirked at her before walking back over to where she stood, then said, "Don't I know it."

And then he kissed her through the bars, less passionate than earlier but fully loving, releasing her lips with a smile.

"Just shout if you need anything," he called behind her, making his way to the TARDIS.

"My throat's a little hoarse from earlier. I'll send you a note if I need you," she countered.

He popped the lapels of his jacket as he pushed the doors open, his actions all a bit too self-congratulatory but endlessly charming.

"Until the next time, River!" The Doctor closed the doors behind him and River chuckled fondly to herself, watching and listening happily as the TARDIS dematerialized. _My Doctor_, she thought. _He's too cocky for his own good. But then again, it's only fair._

River walked back over to her bed and rearranged the sheets, contemplating what adventure would come next.


	12. I Better Be Quiet Now

Disclaimer: All rights go to the BBC, etc, I only claim the writing.

**I've only a got a few more after this, so if you want any more oneshots you need to request a song! But thank you as always and please continue to review. Enjoy!**

**Also, I wrote a slightly darker oneshot (which is called "Born Both a Weapon and a Monster") and it would mean a lot for me if you checked it out and reviewed-don't worry, it's still Eleven/River.**

* * *

><p>I Better Be Quiet Now-Elliott Smith<p>

_A lot of hours to occupy, it was easy  
><em>_When I didn't know you yet,  
><em>_Things I'd have to forget.  
><em>_But I better be quiet now,  
><em>_I'm tired of wasting my breath:  
><em>_Carrying on, getting upset._

_Maybe I have a problem,  
><em>_But that's not what I wanted to say.  
><em>_I prefer to say nothing,  
><em>_I got a long way to go,  
><em>_Getting further away._

* * *

><p>The Doctor closed the doors behind him, finding little of his usual solace in the familiar thud of wood against wood. He pressed back against the entryway and let out a heavy sigh, followed by slow trudging as he shrugged his way up to the console. He leaned over the controls, pausing to observe the flashing lights and spinning tops that encompassed the structure in front of him. He pressed a few buttons, twirling a little less madly than normal, and shook the controls until he was set off hurtling deep through the vortex.<p>

He dragged his jacket off begrudgingly, turning to set it down on the console chair. He stopped dead in his tracks as he spotted the thick, black belt that tottered over the railing, close to slipping off. It swung back and forth almost rhythmically, though the side that hung over the TARDIS' top level had fallen much further and was beginning to drag the rest of it down.

He watched it struggle to keep its balance, teetering lightly, until the equilibrium snapped and pulled the belt to the floor. The Doctor hesitated, then ever so slowly made his way over to it and picked it up. He felt the rough fabric of the belt beneath his fingertips, smoothing it over with both hands. He lifted it up to his nose on the off-chance it carried that scent he knew all too well and upon finding that it did, in fact, clutched it tighter before placing it tenderly next to his jacket.

Oh, River. She was getting younger every time he saw her, her eyes a little less knowing each time he happened upon them. This last time she didn't even have her book yet and it took all the energy he had not to show her a face of utter despair when she looked back with a blank stare.

"_Shall we do diaries, then?" He had asked. He watched as she gazed back at him, her features wrinkled in youth and confusion._

_"Diaries? What diaries?" She shook her head then with unresponsive eyes, an acceptance of yet another mystery glazing within them._

It was beginning to really hurt now, the pain of knowing too much. This meant he was nearing close to their end and even though he had been for a while, he never realized how unprepared he was. She was always so confident when he was younger and took his shouts and attempts at pushing her away in stride, and only now could he really appreciate her for it.

Truly sad, it was, that they had fallen in love and were two tops spinning in opposite directions together, only to bump at the middle occasionally-if they were lucky. And they had made so many rules, so many damn regulations that they just couldn't break because they knew the universe could only hold so much contradiction.

He felt guilty that River had been able to converse with him and be with him completely in his younger days and he just couldn't do the same for her. He tried, by the stars did he try, and sometimes he'd succeed in making that young woman laugh in full, her whole body shaking with sheer happiness.

But then he'd say something odd, mention a place or person she'd never heard of, and his hearts would fall a little more into his chest as she'd look back at him expressionless.

There was more to come, he knew, more empty glances and younger smiles, and it was killing him slowly, day by day.

And then he laughed aloud to himself, a sad, desperate laugh, as he realized why it was called falling in love.

"Falling hurts," he whispered.

* * *

><p>River glanced down at her diary, trying hard to hide the tears that were starting to form. She breathed deeply, stopping her tears before they had time to plop down to mark a page, and traced the border of her diary. She was losing him, losing every kiss, every adventure, every smile.<p>

But River Song was strong. River Song didn't cry, not anymore, not after she'd learned to hold her own. River Song never let herself cry because if she did she'd never stop.

She stuffed her diary back into her bag, wiped the sweat off her brow, and shielded her eyes from the sun that blazed furiously overhead. This was just the latest on her long list of archaeological digs and River was growing bored. She and her team had spent the past three hours digging in a trench, finding nothing, and so she had called a break. Whipping out her diary for a quick sentimental memory, River was reminded of the Doctor she had coming and the one she had left behind.

It was ironic, there being so much of the Doctor in the universe with all of his various versions, but not enough for her. Not her Doctor, not anymore.

That was the thing, though, wasn't it? That the Doctor was there for everyone else and every other planet that needed him, except for her. The universe didn't seem to care that she needed him or that, it seemed clear, he needed her. The universe was its own being, its own mind and soul, and it didn't care about the little things like two lost souls in love.

Love was boring to the universe, blinding people and clouding their judgment. The universe would function better without the love between people like teenagers, those too hormonal to think about and decipher right from wrong. But at the same time, love was what kept the universe alive, breathing vivaciousness into the dull, mundane parts of existence.

Love was what River thrived on and thirsted on and what kept her going when she saw a man who barely recognized her. Love _was_ the universe and River hungered for it.

But she did wonder, sometimes, what her life would have been like without the Doctor. Then again, he was there at her birth and his influence shaped a large portion of her childhood, so she couldn't really imagine a life without him. She'd grown up knowing and thus loving him, so it really wasn't a surprise to anyone when those feelings had developed into something more. But if she had had the choice to love someone else, someone stable and normal who could have given her a life so very different, who would she have chosen?

He was simultaneously the most dangerous and most beneficial person in the universe, the power of his knowledge and experience leading him to love with the potential to destroy. He was arrogant, intelligent, and boundlessly charming-just her type of man (though the idea did occasionally surface in her mind that her type might have been different had she been born in different circumstances).

She'd never truly had a choice in the matter-loving him, that is. She'd loved him from the moment she could first remember and was fairly sure she always would. But maybe it was better this way-loving someone always and forever rather than not at all. The Doctor was someone who stopped in rarely for most people, but River had gotten him her whole life. She was lucky, extraordinarily so, and she knew this.

So when her student came over with a water canteen and asked her if everything was all right, she responded with a toothy smile and said, "Yes of course, I'm always all right."


	13. Gravity

Disclaimer: All rights to the BBC, Steven Moffat, etc. I own the writing, though!

**I've got one last one after this and no one has suggested a song so far, so the fic is almost over! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and enjoyed-it means so much to me. As always, please review and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Gravity-Sara Bareilles<p>

_Something always brings me back to you,  
><em>_It never takes too long.  
><em>_No matter what I say or do I'll still feel you here 'til the moment I'm gone._

* * *

><p>"You can't reverse the polarity of a planet's core neutron transfer without destroying the whole system!" River followed quickly behind him, her hands held furiously on her hips paired with an intent glare.<p>

"You can and I will," he retorted, ignoring that feeling creeping on the back of his neck as she stared him down. "If I reverse the lithium feeds the energy will stop and restart, so by destroying the whole system I'll have actually restarted it."

He fiddled with one wire and upon deciding it wasn't the one he wanted, chucked it over his shoulder and instigated a search for the right one. He pushed his goggles on top of his head to closer inspect the wire he was currently studying as River looked on intransigent.

"That'd be lovely, honey, but there's no guarantee the feeds will come on again soon enough after you've shut them down. This equipment is ancient and it could take up to an hour for it to get going again. We don't have an hour, Doctor!"

He ignored her, continuing to play with wires and metal as he worked furiously away at the control panel.

"Are you even listening to me?" River was fuming and considerably irate as she glowered at his unresponsiveness.

"I'm trying hard not to," he replied.

"I really hate you sometimes." She was shouting now, pure anger surging through her body as she reached down and grabbed the wire he was looking for, thrusting it into his hand.

"I know," he shouted, his hands thrown up in the air as he pressed in the finishing touch to his contraption. "Time for the ground to stop spinning. Well it'll actually start, but that's not the point. Ready?"

Without waiting for an answer, he plugged the last wire in and the board sprang to life. They fell over as the world started spinning around them, blurring reality and any stabilities previously held as the world went up in a tumultuous uproar.

And then the spinning stopped abruptly, throwing them to their sides as objects fell from the walls around them. The room was smoking with bits and pieces on fire as River and the Doctor clutched their heads in a weak attempt at protection. Their stomachs somersaulted once, twice, before the Doctor casually sat up and gazed over at the control panel.

"See? Not so bad." He stood up, wiping himself to avoid any tiny metal shards that had collected on his tweed. He turned to River and continued, "Grand old thing, didn't need an hour! Love a neutron transfer core."

He paused for a moment upon inspecting River's motionless form. He walked over to where she lay curled in a ball and bent down, hands on knees.

"River?"

River was clutching her chest as she fought back tears, blood seeping through her clothing as she heaved staggered breaths.

"River, what's happened?"

Her cheeks were growing pale as the blood rushed from her face to her chest to the floor, pooling beside her wounded form. She gasped before trying to reply, her state of pain obvious in the fragile sound.

"The wire snapped," she struggled out. "That one." She pointed a finger crookedly at the wire he had cast away earlier, lying a few feet away with a tip covered in blood.

"Hold on, River, it's going to be okay. It's just a bit of a burn." River fought for air as she listened to the Doctor's reassurance, sounding more for himself.

"It's cut a gash," she responded. "There's too much blood already and you need to get out of here, the emperor's wardens will be here any minute. There's nothing you can do to help, just go!"

The Doctor stared at her helplessly as he repressed any and all emotions that burned in his hearts. He knew she was right and that the palace security would be here sooner rather than later, but he couldn't move as he crouched rooted to the ground.

He had seen how she would die and she would not die here, surely. He knew she might have the possibility of regeneration, but that chance was too slim and he would never risk it for something as precious River. There was, indeed, hope that she might pull through and regenerate, but it was more likely that he'd lose her, and he was not ready or willing for that to happen.

"River, I need you to be strong. Just for a little," he coaxed her, stroking her hair tenderly. "I'm going to have to pick you up and you can't fight me. I need to do this."

"Doctor, just go, there isn't time!"

"I will not lose you!" He roared it louder than he should have and scooped his hands underneath her torso, getting in position to haul her up and then run. "Ready?" He looked down into her eyes, this time waiting for a reply.

She nodded just the smallest bit and he cringed as she cried out in pain, his arms lifting her into the air. "Okay," he whispered.

Then they were off, his legs speeding them down the corridor as quickly as they would carry him. They rounded a corner and almost ran into the TARDIS, the Doctor shoving it open with the weight of his back. He ran up and lay her down gently but hurriedly on the console chair before pressing in coordinates to send them away.

He turned back to River and leaned down so that his face was inches from hers, kissing her forehead in worry.

"Doctor," she gasped. "It's too deep. I don't, I don't think..." But before River could finish her sentence she let out a distressed cry, clutching her body closer.

"You're going to be okay, don't worry, it's okay." The Doctor cupped her wrist, feeling her faint pulse, and stroked the underside of her arm with his fingers.

"I need to tell you something, now, before I..." River coughed, a few drops of blood surfacing on the corner of her mouth.

"River don't you dare, don't you dare say anything else." The Doctor's eyes brimmed with tears as he looked her up and down, trying to figure out the quickest route to the TARDIS sick bay.

"Shut up," she said. She grappled for his hand, squeezing it tightly. "I don't regret it, not a thing." And then she was unconscious but still breathing, so the Doctor apologized a thousand times in his head for the discomfort as he picked her up and took off towards the sick bay.

A million thoughts raced through his head as he struggled through the corridors searching for the next anti-grav tunnel. She wasn't going to die, he wouldn't let it happen. She was everything to him, absolutely everything, and she wasn't going to die. Not here.

He prayed silently to every and all gods that might possibly exist as he rushed through the hallways, more desperate than he had been in a long time. He thanked every star and planet for each little breath River released, his hearts beating fast and almost popping out of his chest.

He was drowning in fear and his love of her, unable to imagine a life where she didn't exist. He began to cry as he realized just how attached he had grown to her and how stupid he'd been, letting himself love someone so fragile, so breakable.

But he knew that in reality she wasn't so, that she was strong, otherwise he wouldn't find himself on _her_ doorstep each time he wasn't able to cope with himself anymore. No matter what he said or did, she was always there and it drew him to her by a force more powerful than something science could explain.

She had his soul now, but most of all, his trust. And he couldn't help but cry out with relief as he thrust her into the sick bay and hooked her into the system.

She was still breathing and he was still hoping, and the room was spinning as the Doctor stood by her side, one hand holding hers as he held on as tightly as he could.


	14. Someone Like You

Disclaimer: All rights to their respective owners, I own nothing but the writing.

**Well enough people seemed to want me to continue, so I ruffled up a few more for you delightful ruffians. Thank you guys for all the reviews, we hit 30! I love suggestions or ideas, so feel free to send one my way. As always, please make my day by reviewing and enjoy!**

**Also, I didn't realize the last chapter would be a cliffhanger but I can't really think of a way to integrate a continuation while keeping in the one scene per song genre so instead I wrote one for a suggestion from Daniel. Here you go!**

* * *

><p>Someone Like You-Adele<p>

_Old friend, why are you so shy?  
><em>_It ain't like you to hold back or hide from the light.  
><em>_I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited,  
><em>

_But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it.  
><em>_I hoped you'd see my face and that you'd be reminded,  
><em>_That for me, it isn't over._

* * *

><p>River and the Doctor exited the TARDIS, ready for the onslaught of loud noises and human commotion, only to find they had landed themselves in the middle of an alien museum.<p>

River sighed, running her fingers over her eyebrows in a petulant manner. "This, my love, is what happens when I let you drive."

The Doctor scoffed, running his hands along the side of the blue box, and turned back to River. "What can I say? The old girl knows I can't resist a museum."

"Where are we, Doctor?"

He paused to lick a finger and hold it up in the air, a jolly smile beginning on his features. "A planet called Trivexum about fifty-five and a half million miles from Earth, I'd say 2035, maybe? But this is brilliant-the Museum of Intergalactic Anomalies! Oh, groovy."

She laughed at him, finding his unconventional methods of environment checks rather endearing. "We'd better go, then. As soon as one of the caretakers figures out you're here, you'll be spending the rest of your lives in a glass case."

Frowning, he snapped his head back to the TARDIS, paused, then turned again to face River. "Actually," he murmured. "Maybe we should go. I'm not too worried about myself or you, who by the way is equally anomalous, we'd have no trouble fighting off a few curators. Curators are lovely people, though, hate to shame them the way I am, but you know how they get. When they want something for their exhibit, they want it."

River cleared her throat, tilting her head in tease.

"Right, well, I wouldn't want to have to deal with one should they decide the TARDIS would make an excellent addition. Come on, let's go."

She nodded in agreement and moved to follow him back into the box, but a hand on her right shoulder stopped her from proceeding. She turned to face whomever was attempting to restrain her and upon seeing the owner of the hand, broke out into a smile and roped the man into a hug.

The Doctor looked back at River, always careful to make sure she was following seeing as though she often wouldn't, and was thoroughly surprised to see her in an animated hug with a man he didn't recognize. The man held his hands tightly around her, drifting low on her back. He watched her end the embrace, placing her hands around the man's face, and kiss him lightly on the cheek. The Doctor felt his stomach burn unexpectedly, heat and color rising to his cheeks.

"River?" he called out with confusion, hoping to remind her of his proximity. She turned back to him with a start, seeming as if she'd forgotten he was there, and waved him over.

"Doctor, come meet my friend!"

"Friend: is that we're called now? I much preferred us before, if I'm honest," the man purred. "My River, look at you! You're as beautiful as ever, if not more."

"Oh stop it, darling." River waved a hand in submission, rolling her eyes, but her smile registered as obviously flattered.

"Hello, I'm the Doctor." The Doctor stuck his hand out roughly between them, now standing next to River, and shook the man's hand with a single shake. After retracting his hand, the Doctor attempted to broaden his shoulders while readjusting his bow-tie. River smiled, recognizing his nervous habit.

"Alright, 'the' Doctor. I'm Charles."

The Doctor smiled back at Charles, though River could tell by the lack of dimples that it was artificial. She subdued a laugh as she realized the reason-the Doctor was _jealous_. _Oh, this was going to be fun_.

"Charles and I, we used to, well," River started.

"Bashful, my dear? You were never really one for _bashful_," Charles teased, watching as she chuckled and consequently brushed her hair out of her face. "There's no reason, not after everything we've done," he paused. "Though I see your point, maybe there is." She laughed again, throwing her head back in gaiety.

Struggling to continue his smile, the Doctor cleared his throat, wanting more of an answer.

"And you're still tongue-in-cheek," River replied. "Charles and I, we were together briefly when I was a teenager."

"You make it sound so wholesome," Charles said, turning to face the Doctor. "We were, shall we say, lovers." He arched his eyebrows at River on the last word, sparking a wave of heat to jolt through the Doctor's back.

River smiled back at him, her eyes twinkling with devilment. "Oh, the days of youth."

The Doctor took this moment of pause to study the man before him. He was tall, taller than the Doctor, with broad shoulders that sloped down to a thin waist. His shirt was tight, but not too much so, just enough to show off the musculature of his arms and the outline of a toned stomach. He was well-dressed, though sported no bow-tie, and looked about River's age, maybe two or three years older. He had a very masculine face, a defined jaw-line and thin lips, and the Doctor supposed he could be considered quite handsome. He had dark auburn hair, fluffed just so, that complimented the grayness of his eyes. Envious, the Doctor pushed a tuft of his own behind his ear, attempting nonchalance.

"We were so young, weren't we. Didn't stop us from having a bit of fun, though, did it?"

River blushed at Charles' latest remark, stealing a quick glance at the Doctor, and was glad to find a flash of jealousy fly across his face. It was gone almost as fast as it came, though, when the Doctor interrupted.

"You don't say," the Doctor responded.

River smiled coyly at Charles, delighting in the little twitches that would result from the side of the Doctor's mouth. "There was that time we jumped the fence to the city, yes. Tore the back of my jeans, d'you remember?"

"Oh, I remember," he laughed. "How could I forget _that?_" They paused to partake in a private glance between them, one that reeked of misbehavior in a shared memory. "So what have you been up to lately? Jumped any fences, stole away in any cars?"

"I remember that!" River remarked, her voice cracking in pleasant nostalgia. "Your mother was mad, wasn't she. She never really liked me, all afraid of corrupting her little boy."

"Who's to say you didn't?"

She laughed again and arched her back to give both men a glimpse of chest before choosing to ignore the question. "I got my doctorate in archaeology."

River marveled in how easily distracted men were. A little manipulation of stance, a small lean inwards, and any man would stand to attention at the power her body contained. She knew she was beautiful, with her golden curls and toned curves, and did not refrain from using it to her advantage.

"That she did," the Doctor choked out.

"An archaeologist? Can't say I'm surprised," Charles continued, ignoring the Doctor's remarks. "You always were interested in older things." He said this with a cockiness that the Doctor couldn't ignore, his smile now gone in favor of an almost grimace. He was a little shocked at how fervently blunt the man was, a pique of anger flaring in his chest.

"You're only two years older, Charles," River sniffed, feigning disdain.

"You know that's not what I mean."

At that, the Doctor turned to River with a quick snap of his head and harsh blink of his eyes in order to suggest they should be on their way. She ignored him.

"You can't say you didn't enjoy it, though, can you?" she asked. River was fully aware of what she was doing, these flirtatious little snipes at the Doctor's pride, and was quite entertained by the whole situation. She could see his cheeks flush just a little bit redder at every comment she'd make and his irritation was radiating off him rather noticeably.

"Never said I did." Charles chose this moment to cross his arms over his chest, an action River took as both a show of arrogance and masculinity. _This was getting better by the second_. Charles turned his head back to the Doctor, deciding this was the time to take note of his existence. "The Doctor, then. Are you two colleagues?"

"Yes," River said, just as the Doctor replied with a firm "no." She turned to him, as if to scold him, and continued. "Well, no. We're friends."

"Ah! How do you two know each other?"

"Old friends," the Doctor got out, interrupting River's chance to speak. "Old, old friends. Knew her way back when. We go back _very_ far." At this, the Doctor sidestepped towards River, his hip brushing gently against hers.

"Funny," he said. "I don't remember seeing you around."

"He's a friend of my parents," she supplied, knowing this would only make the Doctor more cross.

"An old, old friend. Like I said," he answered. He placed his hand on the small of her back, applying a bit of pressure, and River resisted the urge to shiver. _So he was handsy when he was jealous-how positively divine_, she thought.

"I see," Charles replied. He seemed intent on River, his stare not wavering from her face. "It's nice to see you," he said.

"Yes," she half-whispered. "Lovely."

This elicited a smile from Charles, who decided to take a step closer to River. "What are you doing later? Want to go for some coffee? I'd love to really catch up. C'mon, it'll be just like old times."

The Doctor pressed harder into her back, tickling the spot directly above the waistline of her pants with the sweeping of his fingers. _And possessive_, she thought.

"I'm sorry, we were just about to leave. Weren't we, River?" He scooped lower and squeezed her tightly, which resulted in a small gasp from River.

"Yes," she rasped out. "We were. Sorry, Charles. See you again, maybe?"

"Here," he paused, reaching into his pocket. He took out a card, flipped it over, and handed it to River. "Call me if you want coffee."

The Doctor squeezed her again, reveling in the tensing of her muscles, then lifted his hand to her waist. He gripped her covetously and proceeded to dig the side of his hip further into River. He stroked his fingers casually in the curve of her waist in the way he knew she liked, and smiled almost threateningly. "I don't think she will."

Then, still holding firmly onto her waist, turned them so they faced the TARDIS and marched them back to the box. He pushed the doors open over her head and then forced her inside first with the palm of his hand against her back.

She only made it a few steps into the TARDIS before he reached out and grabbed her waist again, spinning her back so she was pulled flush against him. He settled two hands on the small of her back and then moved so he had her pinned against the wall, his hips digging into hers. He kissed the place where her neck meets collarbone and sucked.

She giggled amorously, letting her fingers tangle in his hair. _I ought to make him jealous more often_, she thought.

He caressed her continually with his tongue until he pulled away to view his work. Where his mouth had been was a small mark, circular and dark purple in color. He ran his fingers over it lightly, smiling to himself at his masterpiece.

"Oh, Doctor, you're rather possessive today."

He reacted to this with an attack on her lips, shoving them into a deep kiss as he gripped his hands around her and lifted her up against the wall. She wrapped her legs around him for support, rather enjoying the special show of aggression.

"Quite," he replied, breaking their kiss for a snide remark.

She fumbled with his bow-tie and pulled it to the floor, helped him shrug off his jacket, and began to make quick work of his shirt's buttons. He pulled her shirt up over her head and threw it to the floor, still holding her against the wall with the force of his hips. The evidence of his enjoyment dug into her and River gasped aloud, eliciting a smile from the Doctor.

"You toy with my emotions, I toy with you," he said, pressing her further into the wall.

"You bad old boy," she laughed.

* * *

><p><strong>The last bit was a little racy as opposed to earlier ones, so sorry if that made anyone uncomfortable. I've considered writing an M fic-would anybody be interested?<strong>

**Thanks again and please review!**


	15. Blood Bank

Disclaimer: All rights to the BBC, etc. As usual, I only own the writing.

**Wow! There was a surge of reviews after that last chapter, thank you so so so so much! It really makes me happy and means a lot to me that you guys are reading and enjoying this. And all right, you've convinced me-I've got an 'M' one in the works. I'll keep you updated.**

**Here's another one for you guys to read and enjoy. Please keep reviewing and sending me suggestions or ideas: you all are the best!**

* * *

><p>Blood Bank-Bon Iver<p>

_You said, "Ain't this just like the present,  
><em>_To be showing up like this?"  
><em>_As a moon waned to crescent,  
><em>_We started to kiss._

_And I said I know it well,  
><em>_That secret that we know  
><em>_That we don't know how to tell,  
><em>_I'm in love with your honor,  
><em>_I'm in love with your cheeks._

* * *

><p>"Oh, groovy. Look where we landed!" The Doctor stood in the doorway of the TARDIS, hands outstretched with the enthusiasm of a five-year-old. "River, it's <em>snowing<em>! Man, I love snow. Did you know that every single snowflake is unique? Well, Wilson Bentley sure did. Snowflake Bentley, they would call him. He was a lovely fellow, bit handsy when drunk, but hey, that comes with the territory I suppose."

River followed the Doctor out of the TARDIS, a small laugh etched on the curve of her lips. She figured they were in London in the mid 1800's, at least around there, seeing as though the very few people passing them were wearing Victorian clothing and speaking British English. River could tell when the TARDIS was translating inside her head and right now she was not.

"Victorian London: this is lovely," River exclaimed, grabbing one of the Doctor's hands. "But sweetie, I'm a little underdressed and it's cold. Can we stop back in so I can change?"

"Fine..." he sighed. He almost muttered 'humans' under his breath before realizing she wasn't just, so he turned them around and pushed open the doors.

After waiting for River for what seemed like an elapsed time longer than it should have been, the Doctor was growing fidgety with the controls. He considered taking them somewhere else, after all last time he'd been in Victorian London there'd been a massive cyber king, but the TARDIS seemed to hum in disagreement and persuaded him to be patient.

He sighed, never could resist the old girl, and sat in a huff down onto the console chair. Soon after, River emerged. She was wearing a black time-period dress, corset and all, with an underskirt that was a shade darker than TARDIS blue. She had her hair up but pinned to the side, some of her curls dangling playfully on the side of her face. On her arms were two long gloves that came halfway up her biceps, the color the same as the underskirt. The dress fit surprisingly perfect, snug in the chest and curves but relatively mobile in the skirt.

"R-River," he stammered. He continued to look her up and down, mouth slightly open, unable to formulate a cohesive sentence.

"Don't get too excited," she smiled. She held out a hand to him in mock expectance and stifled a laugh as the Doctor took it in mock chivalry, the pair knowing River was not one for traditional or courtly manners. "Shall we?"

"River, you look beautiful."

She glanced at him, one rogue curl falling into her face, and replied. "Thank you, sweetie."

Then the two were off, marching happily through the streets. The pair would have to stop occasionally to fix River's dress from tripping her and every so often the Doctor would trip himself on a stray cobblestone, which always resulted in a loud laugh from River. They were careful not to be exceedingly loud, though, seeing that those walking past would probably feel a bit uncomfortable at their displays of affection. They were only holding hands but even that, for unmarried couples, was considered awfully modern.

"I left my vortex manipulator on the TARDIS, dear, can you tell me what month we're in?"

The Doctor halted his gait to turn his left arm over to where his watch had fallen, then smiled back at River. "December, 1849. Three days 'till Christmas."

She watched as he leaned back to gaze at the snow that was falling, laughing when it would land in his eyes and cause him to sputter. She reached up into the air, catching a few flakes on her hand, and turned towards the Doctor. "I hooked up these gloves so they are temperature-specific. They will hold the internal temperature of whatever they're touching, no harm done to the hand inside. Fabulously useful for when we're on lava planets, but also for this. Here," she stuck her hand out towards the Doctor. "Catching snowflakes."

He broke out into a childish grin, grabbing her hand for closer inspection, and giggled as he stared at the perfectly intact snowflakes. He observed them for a while, still holding tight to her hand, then chanced to look up at her face. She was smirking, as she often did, but it was not at all mean-spirited. As he continued to gaze at her, he realized it was a look of pure, unblemished affection. He took this moment to wrap his arms around her waist, pulling him towards her.

She released a chuckle as her hands landed on his chest, each over one heart. She looked up at him, her heels barely helping the height difference, and tilted her head in suggestion.

He looked around quickly, head darting back and forth, and upon seeing no one around, leant in forwards. He kissed her close-mouthed and sweetly, the embrace douce and loving.

The snow kept falling around them, covering the couple in a light dusting of white and water. The gas-lighted street-lamps continued to burn a rich yellow, setting a sheer glow to the already-fallen snow and the water that dripped from the side of roofs. It played off the transparency of the icicles, a kaleidoscope of rainbows twinkling in the corner of their eyes.

The night was cool and dark, enveloping them in that familiar sense of loneliness as shadows danced across the sides of brick buildings. But they were not lonely, not together, because each had the other to share this moment with, _their_ moment.

Time was their enemy and in turn their best friend. It allowed them to marvel at the universe and embrace the wonders and gifts it had to offer, but it also was the one thing tearing them apart. When they were together, time would weave in and out between them like an old woman's needle and thread, quick and purposeful. It knitted them together into a blanket that defied reason and logic, but the continual use and attention caused the edges to fray.

Because that's the way they were, River and the Doctor. One would slowly be coming to grips with their full knowledge as the other began to wither away, their memories unravelling and sparse. But they tried hard not to think about that as they kissed under the glow of Victorian London, a snowy sky above them and the tint of yellow lamplight surrounding their bodies.

River broke the kiss, slightly out of breath, and rested her head on his chest. He dragged her closer, enjoying the feel of their bodies pressed together, and sighed contentedly into her hair.

"If you're ever wondering why," River began, startling the Doctor's tranquil state. "Why I do this, why I continue to love you." He stared down at her as she whispered into his chest, not sure if he wanted to hear the rest of the sentence or not. "It's for nights like these, when the sky opens up and rains down upon us, reminding us that even though the universe is slowly ripping us apart it was the thing that brought us together in the first place."

She paused, breathing against him, pressing her hands a little deeper into his hearts. "Basically, what I'm trying to say is that it's because I love you, Doctor. The universe created me to destroy you but it never realized I could love you instead, and you know me: I hate to follow orders."

The Doctor chuckled into her hair, his eyes beginning to brim with tears. River could tell, though, and pulled away to wipe one gloved fingertip underneath each of his eyes, catching his tears in her grasp.

"They're because I'm happy," he assured her. "I promise."

She smiled at him, not entirely convinced, and took a hand in hers. "Come on, darling. There are worlds out there full of danger and music, and we're the only ones who can help. We've got work to do."

* * *

><p><strong>I may or may not have fudged and then stolen the last line from the last lines from Doctor Who before it went off the air in 1989, but hey, at least I admit it.<strong>


	16. Arc of Time Time Code

Disclaimer: All rights to BBC, etc. I own the writing.

**Here we are! This one was from a suggestion from OctoberWolf and I'm still open to ideas and suggestions, so please go ahead and give me some.**

**Thanks as always for the reviews and please enjoy and continue to tell me what you think!**

* * *

><p>Arc of Time (Time Code)-Bright Eyes<p>

_You can choose the high or the lower road,  
><em>_You might clench your fist, you might fork your tongue  
><em>_As you curse or praise all the things you've done.  
><em>_And the faders move and the music dies  
><em>_As we pass over on the arc of time._

* * *

><p>The Doctor burst open the doors to the consulate's grand hall, pushing the large, heavy wood aside with such great ease it caused the two security men following him closely behind to feel a small bubble of fear erupt in the core of their beings. The Doctor continued to walk straight to the center of the empty room; save a round rug and two chairs, each with their own small coffee table; his gait steady and purposeful. He marched up to the man who sat calmly in one chair, his head tilted downwards as he took a slow sip of his tea.<p>

The man sipped at his drink unhurriedly, unperturbed, and placidly laid his cup down on the table beside his chair before turning his gaze up to meet the Doctor's. His cool eyes were met with the steely resolve implanted in the Doctor's, a battle between them for whoever would stay the most serene.

The man gestured offhandedly towards the chair that lay across from him, motioning for the Doctor to sit. The Doctor didn't; however, deciding to stay rooted to the spot.

"Where is she?" It was a calm question, though perfectly enunciated. It held the promise of fire and the possibility of disaster, all wrapped up in the Doctor's firm tone of voice. This was not a battle he would lose.

The man before him was the consul of this planet, the Doctor supposed. It was a breeding planet, one once inhabited by a glorious native species with orange skin and the ability to turn half their right arm invisible-which, if he was honest, the Doctor never really saw the point of-until another planet's government had swooped in and either enslaved or destroyed all of the indigenous peoples, making space for their new breeding grounds. It was a case like so many others, invasion and enslavement and despair, and the Doctor was not happy.

"I will ask one more time and _this_ is your last chance. I suggest you be smart and you take it, because I am not kind. Not when you threaten the people I love." He straightened his bow-tie, trying to keep a tepid demeanor. "Where is she?"

The consul settled further back in his chair, angling his eyes back up to the Doctor's with a strangely triumphant look. "Who?"

"You know damn well who," the Doctor said, seething. His voice was the calm before the storm, almost monotone but fully livid.

"The girl?" The man asked, feigning innocence. He reached over to take another sip of his drink but was stopped by the Doctor's hand on his wrist, held tightly and with no remorse. "Could you please release my hand? Really, there's no use for such petty acts as physical threat. I don't want to have to get my men involved, now do I?"

The Doctor let go of the consul's wrist, but not before squeezing it harshly enough to leave a mark of five little red dots where his fingertips used to be.

"See now? That's better." He took another sip of his drink before placing it back on the table. "And the girl, well, she's lovely. Good on you, mate, to snag one as pretty as she. All the women here are either decided upon a life of celibacy, you know how nurses can be, or orange savages. Personally, I'd rather have a bit of a lonely period then have to mix with one of _them_." His voice was full of disgust, contempt seeping out of his tone.

"Don't test me." the Doctor barked. "I'm in a very bad mood indeed and I've got half a mind to blow this place up, in, oh-" he paused, regarding his watch. "five minutes and forty-six seconds."

The consul laughed, a brittle sound from the core of his body. "She'll make a fabulous courtesan."

"Five minutes, thirty-six seconds."

The consul straightened up in his chair, adjusting his jacket, and looked up at the Doctor complacently. "Fine, we don't have to have fun. I was hoping we'd at least have some time for witty banter, but I can see you're not in the mood."

"Five minutes, nineteen seconds."

He narrowed his eyes at the Doctor, doubt beginning to fester in his mind over whether or not the Doctor was telling the truth. "Empty threats will get you nowhere."

"Five minutes...and nine seconds."

"'The Oncoming Storm,'" he spat out. "I've heard so many stories, a dark legend-you're called. But I never thought you'd be so impatient. And if the stories are true, you wouldn't dare use violence to get your way. Don't think me a fool, sir."

"And don't," the Doctor responded. "Think I will stop for _anything_ before getting River back." He paused again, turning his arm to look at his watch. "Four minutes, fifty-three seconds."

"You couldn't blow up a planet this size. You wouldn't."

"No," he said. "You're right. But my friend who's hovering over us in a plane full of U-235 bombs would have no trouble at all, and he's just a button press away."

The consul laughed again, a short, coarse sound, before standing up to face the Doctor at face-level. He was about the same height, give or take a few inches. "Blow up a whole planet for the sake of one girl?"

"Blow up one horribly corrupt dystopia, a government that feeds on the blood that drips from the backs of those poor people, to make a point? I've done it before."

"Blown up a planet?" the consul asked, hiding curiosity behind a layer of artificial steadiness.

"I've spent too many years wanting forgiveness from that one, but this won't be like that. No, it'll be dreadful to lose so many of the native inhabitants, but I know some have escaped onto New Earth somewhere and they'll set up a new society and thank me for destroying you. Know what I think? I think you have three minutes and forty-eight seconds to tell me where River Song is before I explode this entire planet."

"You'll kill her too, you know. And yourself."

"Except, this is a good bit, this is. This is my favorite bit. These explosions only happen once and kill anyone they encounter in the first _nanosecond_, except the two of us both have this lovely little trick when we get too deep into the whole dying thing. Just a bit of glow, a bit of light and voila! Brand new body. And seeing as though these explosions are a nice one-time thing, we shouldn't have much trouble with the whole process."

The consul stared at him, slightly speechless, unsure of what to say.

"Oh, time-check. Two minutes, thirty-one seconds and counting!"

"Call it off."

"Bring her to me. You've two minutes..." he paused. "Twenty-five seconds to send one of your men to get her. Don't try me."

There was a loud blast as the room's entranceway was blasted through in a perfect square, a curly-haired woman stepping through daintily and with a few small coughs.

"Nasty thing, sawdust. Oh hello, sweetie." River flashed him a smile, one hand by her waist holding her squareness gun and the other her sonic blaster. "Glad to see you could make it after all."

"River," he whispered. And then he was running towards her, roping her into an animated hug that he only barely noticed the orange head peeking out from behind the opening. "Well hello, there. What's your name?"

"Xhunga," the orange man replied.

"Xhunga's my new friend," River said, motioning to him. "He helped me break out of that cell-hate a dead-lock seal. Just that much harder to get past, but not impossible."

"Have they done anything to you, have they hurt you?" The Doctor stroked her face with soft caresses, worry and care gracing his features. He paused a moment, remembering the man beside them. "And thank you, Xhunga. You're the best!" He stuck his hand out in a fist, gesturing a fist pump, which was received with hesitation and confusion from Xhunga's end.

"I'm fine, Doctor. Don't worry about me," River smiled.

The Doctor took one last careful look at River before turning back to face the consul, who had taken advantage of the Doctor's distractions to plant himself between his two guards, both in gun-wielding stance with a steady grip on their weapons.

"Oh big guns, big fellas. Okay, right. _Well_, it's been a pleasure talking with you mister-consul-dude but it's time I'm off."

"What makes you think I'll let you go?"

"Because I've wired this room to blow in about a minute." This threat came from River, her gun held eye-level and straight at the consul.

"River?" The Doctor looked at her incredulously. "I was bluffing! I didn't have a major explosives plan, that was all a lie! If it didn't work I was going to think of some brilliant escape either the moment before they shot me or during the time they locked me in a cell, whichever came first."

"Explosives plan? Doctor, what?"

"You were _bluffing_?" The consul was angry now, spitting out venom along with his biting voice.

"Sorry, yes, bluffing. But River, there are big guns and big men holding big guns and I'd really like to get out of here now." He paused, eyeing the opening she had blown her way through. "How did you get the whole room wired up in less than an hour?"

"I'm very good, sweetie."

He smiled, oddly aroused, before turning back to the consul and his two men. "Right then, it's been fun. Don't think I'll forget about this-I will come back here, I promise, and save every single person on this planet who's life you have destroyed after sending each and every one of your men to their own personal hell. And you, you had your warning. I suggest, in the future; assuming you have one; _not_ toying with the people I love, especially her. Shall we?"

"I'll be there soon, honey, just have to take care of these guys first. Meet you at the TARDIS in two minutes?" She kissed him on the cheek before bumping him with her hips, urging him to leave. "See you in a bit."

And then the Doctor was running alongside Xhunga, the two men leaving behind the noises of gunfire and bright colors that swirled in the air around them. Once reaching the TARDIS, the Doctor turned to Xhunga.

"Thank you for helping her: I know how dangerous it must have been for you," the Doctor said.

"I can't take much credit, all I did was open the dead-lock seal on her door. She basically took it from there."

The Doctor laughed, having assumed as much. "Still, I keep my promises. I'll be back for you and all of your people once River and I figure out a way to help. It'll be sooner than you think."

Xhunga laughed, shaking the Doctor's hand. "I should think you are a kind man, a good man."

The Doctor patted Xhunga on the back. "The best," he replied.

Then the two men were distracted as River walked calmly towards them, two guns in hand and one on her hip. "Hello, boys. Thanks again, Xhunga. We'll see you soon!"

River brushed past the Doctor and stepped into the TARDIS, the Doctor following closely behind. She dropped her guns on the floor, sighing, and turned to the Doctor. "It's sweet, dear, that you think you ought to rescue me. But as you can see, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

He swooped her into a hug, pressing kisses to her cheeks that resulted in small giggles from River. He leant in to press a kiss to her mouth but she turned her head away in refusal, causing him to pause and feel both confused and hurt.

"Doctor, there are times to get emotional. I'd love to say you have the glory of getting to feel such strong emotions at times, but I can't. When you're emotional, you make mistakes. Mistakes, like almost blowing up a whole planet."

"But I was bluffing," he said, a bit shocked at what she was saying.

"That's not the point. The point is you would have, had you had the chance. And I'm not worth that, Doctor. I'm not worth the destruction of an entire planet."

"You're everything to me, River," he whispered.

She sighed, pulling him closer. "I'm not always going to be there, Doctor. And you need to learn, better it be now than too late, how to control your emotions when you don't have me."

"But I have you now," he whispered, his mouth at her ear. "I've got you right now." He was pressing kisses to her ear, trailing down to her jaw and stopping right next to her mouth.

"Yes, you do," she murmured. She kissed him lightly, only for it to be turned into a deep, passionate one as the Doctor clung tightly to her and mapped the inside of her mouth with his tongue. She pulled away, a bit breathless, gaining her breath before replying. "But do you understand what I'm saying, Doctor?"

He looked her in the eyes, his own cloudy and unreadable, before attacking her lips again with more force than before so that River could do nothing but kiss him back, her hands in his hair. They could talk about it later, she supposed.

* * *

><p><strong>Update: I think I'm going to upload the M-rated ones to a different fic so I can keep this one under T. What do you guys think?<strong>


	17. Astronaut

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the writing and all rights go to their respective owners.

**Hello again, friends! Well here's another one but I really want/need suggestions so please send them to me: I want to write what you want to read. I also like to have a fic basically written out before I post it, so the M one is almost done and will be up soon, for those of you who said you were interested. As usual, please review and I hope you enjoy this next installment!**

* * *

><p>Astronaut-Amanda Palmer<p>

_And I am still not getting what I want,  
><em>_I want to touch the back of your right arm.  
><em>_I wish you could remind me who I was  
><em>_Because every day I'm a little further off._

_But you are, my love, the astronaut  
><em>_Flying in the face of science.  
><em>_I will gladly stay an afterthought  
><em>_Just bring back some nice reminders._

_And is it getting harder to pretend  
><em>_That life goes on without you in the wake  
><em>_And can you see the means without the end  
><em>_In the random frantic action that we take?_

* * *

><p>This was ridiculous. The past six nights River had stayed up until four-thirty in the morning waiting to hear the familiar <em>'vworp, vworp'<em> noise outside her flat. He had promised to come back in less than week, he _promised_, and he hadn't arrived yet. She was growing impatient with his various antics-showing up early, showing up late, showing up whenever he damn well pleased. When she was older and had somehow secured her own means of time travel (she knew she'd figure it out someway, probably just get a time agent drunk enough to let her slip it off his wrist) she'd show up unexpectedly in _his_ life, merely to spite him.

He hadn't even kissed her yet. She could tell how badly he wanted to and she knew how badly _she_ wanted to, but he always seemed to weasel his way out of any situation that could potentially lead to kissing. She was sick of his diversions and distractions, and impatience was starting to get the best of her.

As she stared mindlessly out the window for the seventh night in a row, River contemplated the universal effects that would take place should she decide to murder the Doctor next time she saw him. Upon deciding the disadvantages outweighed the benefits, River sighed and leaned deeper into her hand perched gently on the windowsill. She'd stay up a few more minutes, no, _five_ more minutes exactly and then she'd go to bed.

River Song was not going to spend her life waiting, nevertheless waiting for a man.

But the Doctor was everything. He was the essence of time and the hero of the universe, rescuing civilizations and providing moral justice throughout all of time and space. No, the Doctor was so much more than a man.

Sometimes, he would look at her like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen and then suddenly her insides would crumble inside her and she'd feel like had she not been born a corporeal being she would melt into the ground right then and there. To be looked at like that at all was wonderful, but to be looked at like that by _him_, the man who had seen and done the impossible, it was the most wonderful feeling she could imagine.

When he looked at her, the stars in her eyes would implode and send waves of contentment and desire through every vein in her body. Her stomach would burn like a forest on fire, a red, hot blaze halted by almost nothing. She would feel a tingling in the very tips of her fingers, like someone was poking a needle there (but in a good way).

When he got close enough to touch her, River swore she could feel electric sparks between them, sparks that guaranteed the splendor of tomorrows and the beauty of primal science pulling them together. River had heard many overwhelming love songs in her young age, the likes of Billie Holiday and Frank Sinatra pouring into her mind during her nights spent reading at home, but not until she had held the Doctor's hand did she understand the feeling behind these songs. This primitive but carnal need would erupt at any time their skin would touch, sending flames to spread throughout every point under her skin.

The Doctor was her contradiction to the universe and he enthralled her. Being a woman born with great knowledge and the need to seek more, the Doctor offered everything River could ever want in a lover, partner, or friend. He offered the universe to her on a silver platter, decorated and made especially for her by his own arduous labor.

He wanted to show her everything he could, which was why last time they met, he promised to show her a new planet. She was bored of her own, now having seen alien spaceships and various points in Earth's timeline. She wanted to see a new world, breathe its air, smell the scents that belonged to a different ground entirely.

River was so consumed by her thoughts she realized she had ignored the timetable previously set. It had been twelve minutes she'd sat by the window, face in hand, staring off into space. It had been twelve minutes still without the Doctor. Twelve minutes wasted waiting.

She stood up, overwhelmed by a passion to be an independent individual, and left the chair that had been her one and only companion before walking into the kitchen. River didn't really feel hungry, but she found herself in the kitchen and it'd be silly not to eat something after storming purposefully in here. She whipped out a pan and some ingredients, mixing and whisking, until pouring little beige circles with little brown chips into the pan. She flipped each circle over until it was crisp and golden in color, serving each pancake onto a combined plate.

She flipped another pancake and looked up at the clock-it was almost midnight. Technically he'd have fourteen more minutes until he lied when saying less than a week. He'd arrive in fourteen minutes or less, or she'd be eating chocolate chips pancakes by herself before she went to bed.

It was a lonely thought, pancakes at midnight and no one to share it with, but she was determined to live her life, Doctor or no Doctor. He would not make her decisions for her.

Five, six minutes ticked away and River was scooping the last pancake onto the mountain covering her plate when she heard the sound her ears were so accustomed to picking up. The TARDIS materialized outside her door and soon there was a knock, begging entry. She stopped everything she was doing, torn between the desire to run and open the door or stay cooly nonchalant, and slowly put down the plate.

She'd open the door, sure, but she'd take her sweet time doing it. He could wait.

After placing the mountain of pancakes perfectly in the center of the table, she walked over to the door. She paused, an idea sprouting in her mind. "Who is it?"

"Hello, River. It's me, it's the Doctor!"

"Doctor who?"

"River," he growled, though not unkindly. He was playing with her, teasing, and she couldn't not break out into a smile as she very gradually unlocked the door. It swung open in front of her, the Doctor posing indifferently against the side of the wall.

"Oh well hello, sweetie," she said. He made way to walk into her flat but she stopped him, hand on chest. "You're late."

"No, I'm not."

"Very nearly," she replied.

"Very nearly but not yet," he responded. He pushed her hand aside, somehow knowing she wouldn't mind, and walked in with his nose in the air. "What is that fantastic smell?"

River huffed, closing the door behind him and then crossing her arms over her chest. "I made pancakes."

"They've got chocolate chips!" His eyes glowed so brightly for a moment River had to work hard to suppress a laugh.

She walked past him, making a path to the kitchen. "They do, yes. Would you like some?"

"Pancakes?" His eyes widened out of sheer happiness, quickly followed by excited gesticulation and a hop in his step as he sat down at her table. "At midnight?"

"Yes, love, haven't you ever had pancakes at midnight before?"

He looked at her with a blank expression, a small shake of his head indicating a 'no.'

"You're kidding me." she said. "What, 900 years of time and space and you've _never_ had pancakes at midnight?"

"No," he sniped, attempting disdain. But his hurt from her basically calling him innocent was overtaken by his inherently childish excitement over the whole situation, his fingers drumming on the table.

She turned from him and reached for the plates on top of the cupboard. She strained her ears to hear a small gulp from the Doctor's throat as he stared at her from behind, releasing a small huff of frustration as if to say that hadn't been her intent. But she knew that it was, seeing as though there were perfectly competent plates stored in the cabinets held at eye-level.

She swerved back to face him, a plate and fork in hand. "Here, Doctor." He took it eagerly, scooping a large heap of pancakes onto his plate, and was right about to dig in before she interrupted. "Ah ah ah, Doctor. You've got to wait." She pointed to the clock, which read out 11:58, red lights flashing against a black screen. He dropped the fork full of pancake from in front of his mouth to his plate, hand gripping the fork tightly.

"You're impossible," he said.

"I've learned from the best," she contested. She smiled as his resentful expression changed to beaming at her. She took a different fork, scooped up a bit of pancake, and looked back at the clock. "One more minute."

He brought the fork up to his mouth, abiding by her rules, and waited with incessant sighs as the sixty seconds clocked down. This was, by far, the longest minute he had ever experienced.

"And..." she paused, looking at the clock. "Eat!"

He stuffed his fork into his mouth, chewing greedily and loudly as he munched on with content.

"This is..." he sputtered. "Really, really good!"

He continued to take forkfuls at a time, ignoring his plate now, and heaved generous servings into his mouth. She laughed, eating her pancakes with decisive cuts and savoring each bite.

"Thanks, dear."

"And the best part-" he paused to swallow, little crumbles of food spilling from the corners of his mouth. "-is that it didn't even involve monsters or danger! Not to say I don't enjoy a good sprout of running, oh I do. But sometimes it's nice to just sit here and-" he was cut off again by another bite, swallowing hard. "-just be, you know?"

She laughed, leaning forwards to wipe a crumb from his mouth. "I think I do," she replied.

After eating the rest of their meal in relative silence, apart from the small choking noises made from the back of the Doctor's throat and the soft chewing sound of teeth against pancake, the Doctor stood up and collected the dishes in his hands. He threw them into the sink casually and winced as they made a loud 'clank' and shattered. She sighed in irritation, bending down to pick up the shards.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"It's fine," she huffed.

"Can I make it up to you?"

"How?"

"A trip." His invitation woke her up, temporarily allowing her to forget her sudden anger with him.

"Where?"

"A new planet," he declared. "With a sky full of radiant colors and a marketplace the size of Manhattan."

She paused, standing up to discard what was left of the plates into the nearby trash bin. "A planet," she whispered, mostly to herself.

"Yes, come on!" he grabbed her hand and leapt forward, bounding towards the door. His efforts were met with minimal resistance and she couldn't withhold a chortle as he shoved her through the door of her flat and into the TARDIS. "New planet for River Song, coming right up!"


	18. Time is Running Out

Disclaimer: I'm awfully bored of repeating myself, but no, I do not own anything but the writing.

**Man, the pancakes in the last chapter inspired me too cook some up this morning. They were bit tough, unfortunately, but chocolate is chocolate is chocolate.**

**Anywho, here is the next chapter! The song was suggested by 'bleach-otaku.' Thanks as always and please review/enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Time is Running Out-Muse<p>

_You're something beautiful,  
><em>_A contradiction.  
><em>_I wanna play the game,  
><em>_I want the friction._

_You will be the death of me.  
><em>_You will be the death of me._

* * *

><p>River stared at him. He was panting heavily, completely breathless, and he stumbled gracelessly forward into her body, nearly knocking them both to the ground. She caught him in her arms, not without difficulty, and held his motionless frame in the weight of her forearms and biceps.<p>

"Doctor," she whispered, fearing no response. There was none.

River felt a tremor of terror shoot through her body, starting at the soles of her feet and rising to the hairs on the back of her neck. She blew out a puff of air, her curls flying away from her face, and began to slowly drag him further into her flat.

She was careful not to knock him into anything too sharp, zigzagging her way over to the couch. Upon getting close enough to the sofa, she deposited his still physique onto the relatively comfortable entity that would have to make do as a resting place. She ran quickly to her front door and out into the corridor, eyes searching for the reliable blue box that occasionally served as her home.

The TARDIS was nowhere to be found, and so River ran back into her flat, shutting the door behind her, and over to a window that opened into the courtyard. Hoping to catch a glimpse of the box alongside her neighbors' shrubbery, River was disappointed to see no sign of the TARDIS anywhere in sight.

Sighing dismally, she rushed back to the couch where her wounded time lord lay. He wasn't battered or bruised as far as she could tell, but River wasn't taking any chances as she pressed two fingers to the pulse on his neck. There was still a faint drumbeat of four and his chest continued to rise and fall, so River finally let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

She ran her hands along the collar of his shirt, eager to see if there were any wounds festering underneath the cotton of his clothing. Wishing with all of her being that this was an older version of the Doctor, she unhooked his braces and carefully took off his jacket as she made her way to the buttons on his shirt. She opened one button at the top first, checking to see if he would stir.

He didn't, so she continued to unbutton the shirt until she could trace her fingers along the skin of his torso. She pushed the shirt folds to the side, looking for any remnants of an injury or gash on his softly breathing body.

There were none as far as she could tell, so she flipped him over with great care and searched for any lacerations on his back. Again there was nothing, so River turned him right side up again and laced his shirt back up, hooked his braces on, and pulled him into his jacket.

Helping him into his jacket was harder than she expected, having to sit the unconscious time lord up and then slip each arm dutifully into a sleeve. When she finally laid him back down on the couch, he released a small groan that stood every hair of hers on end.

He was still out cold, but his body was continuing to react to whatever had caused him to get knocked out in the first place.

She knew she'd have to check his legs as well, relenting as little of his dignity as possible, so she let her cheeks flare red as she stripped him down quickly and searched all over his skin for traces of wounds. Still there were none, so she hastened to aid him back into his trousers and resolutely lay his unmoving form to rest on the couch, untouched.

She kneeled down beside his face, stroking the back of her hand against one of his cheeks. Only now, him seemingly entirely out of danger, did she feel the stiffness of her cheeks caused by incessant tears that she hadn't noticed she'd cried.

This situation was terrifying-he was hurt, he had to be, and she couldn't find any trace of the source that had knocked him unconscious and into her arms. She was oddly pleased, proud that in his hour of need he thought to come to her, but her helplessness in the situation was starting to wear her confidence thin. River Song could bandage a cut so deep it hit bone and concoct a remedy for even the most agonizing of pains, but with no leads as to why the time lord had dropped hard into her arms, she was utterly helpless.

She sat up cross-legged and stared at him. She was going to figure out what was wrong with this picture and soon, because River Song was clever. River was often too clever for her own good, but right now her intelligence was needed to serve a purpose, that being restoring the Doctor to health.

Now, what was wrong here-something was wrong. The TARDIS was gone. Where could she have gone? And River didn't hear the engines or brakes when she landed. She supposed he could have put the TARDIS engines on silent, but seeing as his state was for the worse and he really loved the landing noises, that wasn't a viable option.

The TARDIS could have dropped him off somewhere, for it was true it was sentient and very much living, albeit not alive. But still, why stay on silent? That didn't make any sense. What if the TARDIS hadn't had control and neither did the Doctor? She was the only other person who could fly the TARDIS, she was sure. So it must have been some other force, an outside alien attack perhaps? Unless...

River rummaged through the Doctor's jacket pocket, her fingers finally encountering the object of their desire. She pulled out the psychic paper and flipped it open, the slightest bit in fear of what she might read.

_Hello, River! Don't worry: he's fine. I needed him out of the way for some business-you know how he gets when he doesn't approve of what we're doing. I only drugged him, so to wake him up just feed him a bit of that lovely tea we've got in the back cupboard, the kind behind the peppermint. I think we got it on Heray, that planet with the green people and squeaky voices. He's a later version, so have fun! Love, River._

The note was definitely in her handwriting and with small-lettering, seeing as though there wasn't much space on a page. It was a bit rushed , maybe older her had a lot on her mind. But River smiled as she re-read the note, pausing to laugh softly as she read the word "business." He really hated her more devious missions, those that often involved stealing something for a museum. It was all a bit Indian Jones-y at times.

She thought it was somewhat hypocritical of him, chiding her for stealing ancient artifacts from different points in time. He was wont to do the same on occasion, though in fairness it was mostly for selfless reasons and in an attempt to avoid temporal paradoxes.

Still, it made her laugh, and the laugh was most welcome to the tear-stained River sitting quietly beside her resting time lord.

She got up soon after, filling her kettle with water and setting it boil, and reached into the cupboard to pull out a mug and the special tea. After preparing the cup and walking it slowly over to the motionless figure that lay on her couch, River poured a few sipfuls of tea into the Doctor's mouth.

His lips accepted it willingly, until suddenly the Doctor started and sprung up into a sitting position on the couch, legs still spread out in front of him.

"What, River, you can't possibly-" he began, then looked around to stare at the room he was now in, confusion masking his features. "River." He changed to stare up at her and the tea.

"It seems I needed the TARDIS and you were getting on my nerves," she said. "Though I should warn you-I'm not the River you were just with."

"What?"

"Look," she supplied. Tossing him the psychic paper, she watched his eyes widen in understanding as she dropped the tea back into the sink before turning and walking back to where he sat.

"River, she's-I mean, you. You're impossible."

She flashed him a smile, moving to sit beside him on the sofa. "Thank you."

"Utterly impossible."

"Well," she began, stretching her arm across the back of the couch. "I try."

"You _try_ to annoy me?" This caused her to snicker, her nose crunching up as she did.

"Like you didn't know."

He paused, regarding her, then leaped so he was lying atop her with his hands pinning her arms down on the couch. She struggled to break free but his grasp was deceivingly strong, holding her firmly in place.

"Now River, it seems you've been rather bad," he drawled out, ghosting his lips over the plane of her neck. "I ought to punish you. You should know better than to make me cross."

She giggled, enjoying the sudden change of mood. "Oh, Doctor. But you're always so _enthused_ when you're cross."

"I _do_ love a bad girl, me."

She arched her back up away from the curve of the furniture, delighting in the little gasp that came from the Doctor's moment of surprise. She looked him squarely in the eyes, hers shining with lecherous intent and his paralleling hers almost exactly.

"Don't I know it," she smiled.

"You-," he paused his speech, leaning in to press supple kisses to her neck. "-will be the death of me."


	19. Careful

Disclaimer: I STILL own nothing but the writing, somehow that just doesn't change.

**This next one is somewhat doubly inspired by 'bleach-otaku,' who provided the song and a skeleton idea of young River/older Doctor.** **Thank you thank you thank you for the reviews-we've hit 50! That's pretty amazing.**

**Please continue to tell me what you think (again, I LOVE SUGGESTIONS) and I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Careful-Paramore<p>

_You'd make your way in,  
><em>_I'd resist you just like this.  
><em>_You can't tell me to feel.  
><em>_The truth never set me free  
><em>_So I did it myself._

_You can't be too careful anymore,  
><em>_When all that is waiting for you  
><em>_Won't come any closer.  
><em>_You've got to reach out a little more  
><em>_More, more, more, more._

* * *

><p>It was early days for her. Very early. Nearly the earliest.<p>

She recoiled when he touched her, no matter how lightly or pre-dispositioned it was. It was hard for them both, and he knew it.

For her, she was still fighting that internal battle between killing him and loving him, even though she'd made her choice a long time ago. Love could stop many things, or at least delay them, but even with the love she procured in her heart there was always the innate reaction to whip out her gun and aim, shoot. River Song was trained to be a weapon from the first moments of her life, and homicide was as much a part of her as her newfound source of love.

For him, he was coaxing his way into the small hollow in her heart that River had created especially in the thought of him. After all her training, she hadn't expected that his presence would fill her heart's cavern and not enlarge it, the contradiction an ideal she was making an effort to get used to. He was expending a limitless amount of energy to be gentle around her in this trying time in her life. She was fragile.

Not physically, of course. River was in the best shape possible, young and fit and ready to fire at anything that crossed her path. But mentally, her mind was in a daily fight against every deathly urge ingrained within her as she opened up to a new way of a life-a choice that depended on love.

She was impressionable right now and he knew it. If he wasn't careful, River would embark on a path that lead to hatred and destruction, and if he was, she'd fall hopelessly in love with him the same way he had with her. Either way he was leading her to her downfall, his hands soaked in her blood. He could almost sense it sometimes, his ears picking up the sound of liquid droplets as he'd stare at her beauty in pure awe. He'd tasted it once, in a kiss, his mouth overwhelmed by the feeling of her blood pouring into his mouth only to pull away and realize she wasn't bleeding at all.

These momentary sensations were not of River's own blood but of time bleeding through, reminding him that he could run away forever and still run out of time. He'd ran from the past, traveling and distracting himself with the companionship of humans as he'd tried to ignore the weight of a dead race resting on his shoulders. The death of his own race. The death of his own planet.

He'd tried to run from the future when he still barely knew her, but time chased him down and thrust her into his arms in ways he's continually trying to understand. The Doctor has never believed in destiny, but this would do him.

It all began, he supposed, when he looked into the time vortex as a child on Gallifrey. Becoming a full-fledged time lord was his greatest accomplishment and lowest occasion, the untempered schism providing an incomprehensible knowledge of the universe into the mind of a scared child who'd seen it all and decided to run away. His journey had started there and hadn't stopped so far, various legs carrying him as far as he could from any kind of established life.

This was why domesticity never suited him, a practice he viewed as mundane and pointless.

River's redemption rested in his hands and on his shoulders and on his back, his body often aching from the constant pressure of keeping the universe intact. When he'd stolen the TARDIS all those long years ago and ran away, the Doctor knew the universe had been waiting for him, but he'd missed one crucial part of his adventuring. The universe had been waiting for him _to save it_.

He was a real-life superhero, with real-life enemies and real-life mortal combat. The stuff of legends slowly became reality as he toyed with time and its relativity to itself, testing its limits and completing the impossible; often he was victorious. Often he was not.

But his friends and their travels together had made him forgive himself, forgetting the weight and pressure of the universe as he carried it wherever he went.

Watching River, the pressure was back now and as vivid as he remembered. It felt as harsh and lonely as the moment he'd ended the time war, his actions working as a never-ending attempt to save the universe but at an immense cost to him. He was only a man, after all. Albeit one with two hearts (perhaps that's the reason for his enormous capacity to love), but still a man with hopes and desires he'd laid aside in favor of defending the stars and those who lived beneath them.

The pressure returned with his embracement of River, the future of the universe depending on the emotions of one brilliant young women. He thought often it unfair to her, that she really had no choice in the matter. She was born into a world of chaos and despair and was still knee-deep in it all, though his incessant caresses and endearments were slowly cracking the hard shell that encompassed the truly beautiful thing inside.

Unexpectedly, what came with his circus act of guiding River in order to balance all of existence was an overwhelming sense of guilt. In the past he was guilty of genocide, having murdered his people. As long as he lived he was guilty of treason, betraying his own needs for the sake of others. But the idea that River's outcome relied on him, namely his affections toward her in this unstable time of her life, caused him more grief and to feel more guilt than he could ever remember.

Any path she chose she was doomed to desolation and he knew it. He knew it when he looked at her or made love to her or shouted at her. Time had decided her fate a long, long time ago, and he could not control Time. He had power over when he chose to exist within it and its states in flux, but never over the fixed points. He'd tried once, tried ever so hard to change it, but Time had showed its disapproval by sending him to exist as an empty frame that resembled the glorious being he had once been.

But the thought occurred to him, watching painfully as she shied away from his touch, that although River could not choose how her story ended, she could choose how to get there. The Doctor could help, guiding her with love and affection to the path the universe seemed to prefer, but ultimately it was her decision and he could never make it for her. He wanted to with all of his might and all of his heart, hoping to shield her from the devastation and self-loathing caused by the dastardly mix of death and memory, but he could not.

And as he watched her slowly turn back to him, reaching painstakingly slowly out with only two fingers, he felt as she brushed his cheek in a soft apology for what she could not provide to him just yet.

Her touch was her choice and her choice filled him with an admiration that told him loving her was the best decision he'd ever made. Her touch spoke of the countless rescues and innumerable lives she'd saved without even knowing what she'd done. Her touch was enough to turn entire armies away from a war waged forever against her, for she had proven herself triumphant.

He smiled at her and it seemed the whole of the universe smiled with him, looking back at her with an amount of love that should scare her but doesn't. Because it was all he could do, really. To keep the demons and devils at bay, all he had to do was love her.

The Doctor, him being quite the capable man, was quite capable of doing that.

* * *

><p><strong>Well this was a little more introspective than fluff, so I promise the next chapter is all warm and fuzzy and super fluffy.<strong>


	20. Brighter

Disclaimer: No rights but writing.

**So here's the next one, song from 'bleach-otaku'! I went on a binge yesterday and wrote up like five more so get excited, because there's quite a spectrum. Unfortunately I'll be away until Wednesday or Thursday, so you'll just have to wait until then for more River/Doctor. Thanks as usual, and please review/enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Brighter-Paramore<p>

_So this is how it goes.  
><em>_Well, I, I would have never known  
><em>_And if it ends today,  
><em>_Well, I'll still say  
><em>_That you shine brighter than anyone._

* * *

><p>"Can I trust you, River Song?"<p>

She frowned at him, one eyebrow cocked up in a rogue alliance with the mischief behind her thoughts.

"Can you? Of course you _can_, that's only a matter of choice and capability and of all things to be, you're quite capable. But should you? I don't know."

He looked at her a moment, contemplating her words with more thought than necessary. He walked over to where she stood, all shoulders and bow-tie and chin, and leaned on the railing beside her.

They stood on a bridge, one that offered them a view of spectacular colors and indescribable land formations that spiraled down, down, into the core of the planet. It was beautiful, like so many things he showed her, like love and beauty and newfound desire. It was breathtaking and heart-stopping and asked for nothing in return, this bridge. Its only purpose was to serve as a passage for those wanting to get from point A to point B, and more often than not was viewed as an obstacle. But to her, it was beauty in its highest form. It gave so much and took nothing in return and was satisfied with whatever the receiver chose to do. It existed solely as an aid to others, be it a passage or quiet place to stop and watch in wonder at the cerulean clouds drifting against white sky.

The Doctor shifted, straightening his bow-tie, adjusting his weight against the rail as he did. His movement stirred her from her thoughts, her eyes falling back to rest in their comfortable place within his.

"The reason I ask-" he paused, slicking his hair to the side. "-is that I have a secret to tell you."

"A secret?" Although her tone was bitterly mocking, the illumination of her eyes described a hidden excitement.

"A secret that you can't tell anyone else. Ever."

"Oh?" She stepped towards him, sliding her hand to rest gently beside his, fingers gripping cool metal. "And what's that?"

"I can't tell you if I don't trust you."

"So trust me."

"Trusting someone isn't easy," he replied.

"Then why," she paused, looking down at her fingers as she stroked the top of his hand. "Do you constantly ask people to trust you?"

"Because I need to," he scoffed. "Their lives, often _our_ lives, depend on it."

She lifted her fingers from his skin and dropped her hand to her side, resting on the swathe of her hip. "Are you saying that trust is essential?"

"Well it's sure as hell necessary!"

She suppressed a chuckle, her lips curving into a smile that resembled one of her tightly coiled curls. "For what?"

"What do you mean, for what?"

"For what is trust necessary?" Her eyes had narrowed now, and were staring intently at him. This conversation had turned from his control to hers and he wasn't quite sure how.

He stared at her, mouth agape, uncertain of where River was taking this. Though hesitant, he continued. "Trust is necessary for survival. And for relationships, too, I suppose. So for that and transversely for surviving relationships."

"You tell me, then. Do you trust me?"

_Ah_. She'd turned the tables on him, made him answer his own question. She was good like that, River was. She was awfully good.

"I guess I do. Is that foolish of me?" His question was honest and out of genuine curiosity.

"Dreadfully so, I'm afraid," she winked at him. "It doesn't do to trust a clever girl like me."

He took a step closer to her, the space between them halving in size. The wild crest of her curls now tickled his chin, soft and smooth against hardened stubble.

"Clever?" he breathed out, sending a small wind to rustle through the top of her curls.

She made an indefinite noise in her throat, calling his attention to the pursing of her lips. She noticed, and he watched fixedly as her lips morphed upwards, the corners of her mouth trailing higher.

His thoughts raced inside his head, trying to remember which one of them held superior knowledge today. It might've been her and it might've been him, one of them definitely was still ahead of the other, but time unraveled in his mind as her lips made it hard for him to focus.

She knew and he knew she knew, which made it all the worse. Or the better, depending.

"So what's the secret?"

He was fascinated by the miniscule movements of her mouth, shaping vowels and consonants and all too far away from his.

Leaning in close, his thin lips held gingerly near to her tender ones, he whispered a response. "I _really_ want to kiss you."

"Do you?" she mused, drawing in a breath of air. Her lips were so close now the action was almost teasing him, it being decidedly unimportant that breathing was a natural thing necessary for survival.

"Can I?"

"All questions today, my love." She looked up at him but his eyes were still enraptured by her mouth, patiently waiting for her next move. "Did you know that even if it were to end right now, I wouldn't regret a thing?"

This stopped him cold, his breath caught in a wave of shock as her words and their meaning sunk in.

"You wouldn't?" It was more of a plea and less of a question.

"Would you?" No longer taunting him, her voice was delicate and sensitive, a whisper barely heard over the sound of birdsong and winds around them.

He didn't reply straightaway, determined to put care and substance and truth in his choice of answer.

Licking his lips, he began a response. "No," he whispered softly. "No," he repeated.

An amorous but tender offering, she bent forward to finally indulge his apparent desires as she swept him into a gentle kiss. It was sweet-a fresh, pure, and untainted action predominately occurring out of a dual longing to join lips and careful experience together.

It was well worth the wait.


	21. Kiss With a Fist

Disclaimer: Nothing owned but the writing, dears.

**I'm back, hooray! So now we'll return to daily updates because I've had a load of wonderful suggestions that will be keeping me writing. Please feel free to send plot requests, song ideas, etc, I'm glad to hear them. This latest song is from 'peacegal45.'**

**Thanks as always for reviewing, and please continue to review and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Kiss with a Fist-Florence + the Machine<p>

_My black eye casts no shadow,  
><em>_Your red eye sees no pain.  
><em>_Your slaps don't stick,  
><em>_Your kicks don't hit,  
><em>_So we remain the same.  
><em>_Blood sticks and sweat drips,  
><em>_Break the lock if it don't fit,  
><em>_A kick in the teeth is good for some:  
><em>_A kiss with a fist is better than none.  
><em>_A-woah, a kiss with a fist is better than none._

* * *

><p>"You don't have to do this!" the Doctor screamed, his voice almost lost among the whirls of radiators and phasing of lights. He tugged his wrist against metal, her handcuffs holding him tightly in place. "Melody, listen to me!"<p>

She ignored him, pulling and pushing and connecting wires to arm the control for disaster. She broke a moment, looking him in the eyes with her own filled by watery tears. She laid a hand on the lever, unable to move any forward. In moments, she'd have destroyed the planet, the people, and the room surrounding them.

"Melody!"

Her ears strained to hear him above the reckless noises erupting in the air, warning signals and alarms flashing loudly to caution her away from what she was about to do.

"Please Melody, I can help! I can help everyone on this planet and I can help you. You don't have to do this!"

She was a child, so young and impressionable, a child of Amy and Rory and war and darkness. She wasn't really a child-she was a young woman, but the childhood stolen away from her shone brightly in her eyes among the tears and indecision.

"Listen to me, Melody." It was a whisper, but impossibly clear to her ears and not quiet or solemn.

"I can't," she gasped, dropping the panel to the floor. "I can't."

He would have smiled then at her inability to destroy, but the tears falling from her eyes and the room dying around them reminded him of what needed to happen.

"Melody, come here. Unlock me, and I can help you. Please, Melody." His plea was soft and gentle, and she was unsure if it was unwelcome or everything she'd ever desired.

She walked over to him, key in hand, and slapped him hard across the face.

"You did this!" she screamed, curls wild behind her as they flew around the beauty of her face. "My only purpose is to destroy and look what you've made me into!"

He reached the uncuffed hand to her face, stroking a tear away from her cheek.

"You've made me into a monster," she whispered, her mind unable to compute what was going on around her.

"No, Melody," he said, placing a hand over the one that clamped tightly on to the key. "I've made you into a person."

She stuck the key in the lock and turned, the cuff breaking as it released the Doctor's raw wrist.

"You say that as if there's a difference."

He wanted nothing more than to coddle her in his arms, trying hard to hold on to the memory of what she will one day become, but there were lives to save and bad guys to defeat so he leapt up and ran over to the door, one hand held out beckoning her to come along.

"Come along, Pond," he smiled, finally allowing himself the courtesy of this simple gesture.

"They told me I would hate you and they were right," she spat out, her feet walking toward him despite herself.

"You don't hate me," he said, gripping one of her hands in his. Then they took off, running towards the blue box that would undoubtedly save the day as it usually did.

"I do," she said, tears spilling down her face. "I really, _really_ hate you."

His hearts broke at the sight of her tears and the loss of her life. Because in all honesty, she'd just lost the only life she'd ever known. Albeit it was one of death and destruction with a bit of perfect shooting stature, but it was still the only one she knew.

"Is it wrong to miss them?" she asked as they turned the corner, her heart in her throat.

"To miss who?"

She dropped his hand and stopped them in their tracks, yards away from the box. "To miss _them_."

Suddenly, he realized she was talking about the people she'd grown up with, the people with guns and hate and a desire to destroy.

"No," he replied, taking her hand again as he eased her slowly towards the TARDIS. "But there is so much more to life than hate. Life is scary and big and complicated, and often sad, but it's the best thing there is."

He pushed open the door and ushered her inside, smiling to himself as she stared around in wonder.

"They said it was bigger on the inside," she whispered, her voice full of awe and enigma. "I didn't believe them."

He laughed to himself, finding it funny that she'd believe them when they said he was a bloodthirsty villain but not that a box could be larger inside than out. He supposed the former had more conviction, though, and they probably had more to go on than this.

He twirled around the console, arms pulling and tangling themselves within the confines of the machine, dialing and pressing and sending them off into the vortex.

"What am I now, if I can't kill?"

Her voice was shrill but wavering, she herself unsure if she wanted a reply or not.

He walked over to her, hands in his pocket, bow-tie and teeth gleaming. He reached out to brush her shoulder and was hurt more than he should've been when she winced, her muscles cringing under the cool of his touch. He withdrew his fingers, placing them at his side, and looked at her with such knowledge she couldn't fathom just how young he looked.

"You're Melody Pond, the girl who chose love," he stated, head tilted slightly to one side. She shook her head.

"Melody Pond is the name of the dead," she replied. "Don't make me into a superhero."

He paused, torn between the urge to hold her or shake her thoroughly, and decided not to touch her at all, fearing what might happen should she change her mind. She was unstable enough as it is.

"Then pick a new name," he said, simple as breathing. "I did."

This was a secret and she could tell, the disclosure hooded within his eyes.

"River," she prompted, her mouth slowly finding the right words. "River Song."


	22. Remembering Sunday

Disclaimer: All rights to the BBC, etc, but luckily the writing is mine.

**Here's another one, my loves. This one is a song suggestion from 'peacegal45,' so please continue to send me songs and ideas! Thanks as always, and please please please please review and enjoy.**

* * *

><p>Remembering Sunday-All Time Low<p>

_But it's starting to all make sense.  
><em>_Oh, I can see now that all of these clouds  
><em>_Are following me in my desperate endeavor  
><em>_To find my whoever, wherever she may be.  
><em>_I'm not coming back,  
><em>_(Forgive me)  
><em>_I've done something so terrible  
><em>_I'm terrified to speak,  
><em>_(I'm not calling, I'm not calling)  
><em>_But you'd expect that from me.  
><em>_I'm mixed up, I'll be blunt.  
><em>_(You're driving me crazy)  
><em>

* * *

><p>And then it clicked.<p>

His mind stopped dead, all of his thoughts frozen on the sudden realization pulsating inside of his head. Their timelines, her spoilers, their impossible way of twirling around each other.

He could see them dancing. Eyes closed, he could see their timestreams bending and jumping in colors so brilliant they haven't been named yet. His line (if you could call it that, it changed course so often it really was more of a tendril) was a magnificent gold, glowing sparks surrounding a sturdy center as it flew up and down, testing the limits of its casing within a ball that could only be described as wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey.

River's line was unlike any he'd ever seen. Most others were a basic gray and relatively stable, linear strokes with tiny bumps here and there. Those who traveled with him always had a yellow undertone to the grayness, and were linear for most of their length except for the short distance where it was perfectly aligned to his. Most eventually dropped back to their linear adventure, the yellow light fading away gradually. A select few stopped dead in their tracks at a certain point with his, this observation always causing him to shudder. Those were the lines of those he'd lost along the way at his hands, his friends too eager to listen or those who listened too well. Most of the lines were of the long dead.

But River's was beautiful. It was a blazing red, sizzling and sparking with no outer case for protection. Every line, including his own, had a shield rotating around the core as a mark of protection, some enveloped in solid gray or others, such as himself, covered by sparks. But River's was blood red, dark and seductive and unique, the core and center the only part of its existence. It was the only line that began with his as well as ended with his, but it was not by any means aligned.

It curled and coiled itself around his now and then, but more often than not dropped low or soared high away from his, her line defying the ball caging them in her own idiosyncratic way.

To his pleasure, though, her stream glowed brighter each time it caught up with his, the red brilliance attacking the inside of his eyelids. But he recognized with a sharp of sadness that her line had a climax, one half of it rising brighter and brighter until it hit its peak, a point where his and hers _were_ synchronized, gliding through the ball in perfect dips and turns. But from the peak it declined, the glow fading ever so slightly as it dropped to a throbbing red that still burned more with each interaction of his own.

The gold and the red danced together, waltzing through time and space in a way he'd never seen before. At points, he couldn't tell if they were dancing or fighting but they were nonetheless together, feeding and falling from the other. Occasionally hers would pick up a few golden sparks from his stream, causing her tendril to explode little bursts of lights as it went along its own journey. More than once, his casing would be burned through by her miniature explosions, the paradox exploring their relationship in the realms of time itself.

This was the curse of the time lords, the ability to physically _see_ time and its points interacting. But it was also the blessing, and the way he chose his companions. Time was unparalleled in its continuity, and the Doctor could see whose line would shine brighter than the others should he choose to befriend them.

But River's was an anomaly and a contradiction. Though her line was clearly the most affected by his, it was so definitive in its own right that the Doctor wasn't entirely sure if it was he who'd influence hers or if she'd influenced his.

Their streams fought for control and for power, two equals unable to accept defeat.

The Doctor released the breath of air he didn't notice he'd been holding, his eyes slowly opening to take in his surroundings. He was lying in his bed, soft sheets pulled to his collarbone, the darkness of the room accompanied by a quiet murmur of the TARDIS. He took in another breath and let it out.

He was alone.

Not that he hadn't been before, but it was strange to be in his bed of his own free will. The Doctor tended to not need sleep, only drifting into the domain of dreams as an act of recuperation or after feeling fully satiated. Dreams were dangerous territory as they often lead to nightmares, and the Doctor dealt with enough nightmares while awake to want to duel with them whilst asleep.

He hadn't been asleep nor dreaming. The Doctor had closed his eyes, submitting to slumber, but had instead been hit with the epiphany of consciousness.

He was in love with River Song.

He'd began to feel tingling sensations throughout his body for a while now but he'd dismissed the signs as hormones, merely the science of his body reacting to hers. This wasn't just hormones now, he knew. This was the science of two minds working as the perfect match for each other, two halves of a puzzle that continually reshaped itself. The Doctor had not been in love for many years and was unaccustomed to the feel of it as it surged throughout his body, setting skin and nerve alight.

He disentangled himself from the covers of his bed and ripped them off him, for once ignoring them as they fell to the floor. He fumbled with buttons and zips as he attempted to dress himself, bow-tie and braces clipped and pulled on in a trembling fervor.

He stumbled out of his room as he groped the cuffs of his tweed, pulling the sleeves to cover his arm fully. With a flick of both his head and his hair, he rushed from his bedroom to the console room, legs taking him as fast as they could run.

The TARDIS wasn't helping as he zoomed through her corridors, silently cursing himself for his brilliant idea of having his bedroom placed in the furthest reaches of his ship as a way to avoid wandering companions.

He ran and he ran and he ran, breathless but somehow heaving, arms chugging frantically as he neared the console room.

He burst inside, running up the steps, and almost collapsed on the console in exhaustion.

"Please," he heaved, pressing his temple to the side of his ship. "Take me where I need to be."

The lever pulled itself, sending the box and its pilot to hurtle through the vortex, lights and noises and speed as it flew through the universe. There was a sharp ping, letting the Doctor know she'd landed, and he stood himself up casually, stroking the sides of his jacket and trousers in an attempt to flatten any rumples the flight had accumulated.

He swept his hair to one side and straightened his bow-tie, blinking rapidly. His hearts thumped hard against his chest, almost knocking his breath out again, but he pulled himself together as he strode toward the doors.

He pushed it open with the palm of his hand, his stance broad and tenacious. He reminded himself of the things he needed to do in order to stay alive (breath in, breath out, right foot forward _then_ left) as he rounded the corner, struck speechless by the figure standing before him.

"Hello, sweetie," she called out. There was a smile on her face, a smile so welcome to his own he could feel his hearts swell with pride.

He sauntered over to her, chin up and hands forward as he roped his hands around her waist, leaning in to hold her.

"Have I ever told you that I love you?" he asked.

She tensed up, the wrinkles in her forehead convulsing as her muscles divulged the answer. "I suppose this is the last time," she said.

"No," he whispered, kissing her forehead. "It's the first."

She looked at him then with such a look, so full of sadness but also of tender affection, that the Doctor could not keep himself from pressing his lips to hers in a satisfying embrace.

"I love you," he whispered as they broke apart, his hands on her face.

River placed her hands over his, not breaking their stare. "I love you too," she said.


	23. Over and Over

Disclaimer: Still nothing, just writing.

**I've got quite a few lined up along with a new suggestion, so I promise to get to all of your ideas it just might take some time. This song is from 'bleach-otaku' and just like every time, THANK YOU for the reviews and suggestions. Please continue to review and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Over and Over-Three Days Grace<p>

_I feel it everyday it's all the same.  
><em>_It brings me down but I'm the one to blame:  
><em>_I've tried everything to get away  
><em>_So here I go again,  
><em>_Chasing you down again.  
><em>_Why do I do this?_

_Over and over, over and over  
><em>_I fall for you.  
><em>_Over and over, over and over  
><em>_I try not to._

* * *

><p>She stares at him, bow-tie and braces and floppy brown hair. He's young and old, fire and ice, time and space. He's the man of nightmares and dreams, the perfect bedtime story of sleepy children. He lives because people need him and he lives to help them, and out of every person in all the universe he's chosen her.<p>

His hands are held up in question, eyes usually full of memory and loss and sadness but right now of hope, and his elbows rest nonchalantly on the table they have chosen as a meeting place.

The coffee in front of her is hot, and steam rises off the top in a ghost of swirling smoke. Her cup is held close to her while his is placed forgotten on the side-he doesn't like coffee but he orders it anyway, every time.

"Well?"

He's asked her a question and he's trying to seem cool as he waits for the reply. She can't remember the question anymore, not as she stares at his nose which has found its way to crinkle into an adorable wrinkle. She remembers what they had been talking about earlier and that she is older than him, as far as timelines go. He was catching up, though, and she knows he's already beginning to fall in love with her by the way his hand shook just the smallest bit when she held his hand earlier.

"I'm sorry, what was the question?"

She generally likes to tease him though this time it's an honest question. The flip of his hair and the curve of his arrogant smile have distracted her again, and she forgets the complexity of their relationship as he stares back at her with shining eyes.

The rain outside has not diminished, angry droplets pouring from the clouds as they explode on the sidewalk and the side of the window. It's beautiful outside, at least in her opinion, because River loves rain.

There's a bit of a motif there and she smiles inwardly-River Song, Melody Pond, all water and music. He's the burning fire that she puts out and it's coincidentally rather comical how well they fit together. She'll always love him for the way he gave her a chance at life, but it won't ever stop her from slapping him or proving him wrong just to see the irritated wrinkle of forehead creases. The Doctor and River Song, fire and water. Two equally powerful forces caught in a never-ending search for dominion.

She takes a sip of her coffee, eyebrows arched up, the apple of her cheeks raised high to accommodate her pleasant smile.

He looks at her and remembers his drink, looping his finger around the finger-hold of his cup. He takes a tentative sip, pauses, and opens his mouth to allow the contents to fall back into the cup. He puts the cup down and his tongue drops out, licking the air, trying to forget the taste of caffeine and burnt mahogany.

"Coffee's horrid. I thought it would taste like chocolate...or wood."

"Wood?" she laughs, resting the cup back on its plate.

"Well they're both brown."

She smiles at him and blinks slowly, basking in the glorious naiveté of the ancient man before her. She was surprised that the world still surprised him, but it only made her love him more.

"Have you ever tried wood?"

He leaned back defensively, arms now crossed. "It's not as bad as you'd think."

"I just wouldn't think to try it." She's got him now, her teases a welcome tone of conversation. She's a flirt but he is too, and more often than not he's the one who starts it.

"What would you think to try, then?" His eyes gleam with mischief, their dark pupils a small mirror to the rain-soaked window beside them.

"Spoilers, sweetie." Her reply is met with both a huff of frustration and an impish grin, both to her content. "Now, what was that question you wanted to ask me?"

She looked past him to view the environment again, this area currently experiencing a large bout of rain. She didn't mind, though, and always liked to be outside when it was. Freshly fallen rain unabashedly left a smell in the air so pure and wonderful it stopped her dead in her tracks every time.

"I asked what you were thinking."

"Oh," she laughed. She waved a hand outside, pointing at the window. "It's wonderful, the smell of earth after rain."

He cocked his head to one side, raising one hand to scratch the underside of his chin, his thumb tracing the edge of his jaw.

"Petrichor," he announces after a few moments of inquisitive staring.

"What?" She links her fingers together to turn her hands into a platform, resting her chin on the plane of her entwined fingers as her elbows grip the table for support.

"Petrichor," he repeats, speaking as if it's the most common word known to man.

"I heard you the first time, my love. What does it mean?"

"It means 'the smell of dust after rain.'"

She looks at him with a frown, a bit cross at how he knows everything. But she feels a smile creep on to her face in replacement to form the 'he's hot when he's clever' face she does so well.

"Petrichor." Her mouth tries it out, the feel of it decidedly pleasant on the course of her tongue. "Petrichor." Her lips move and shape to form the 'p' sound and the vowels, an undeniably lovely word. "Now how do you know that? There must be some kind of story behind it."

River loves his stories. He's got thousands of them, the tales of people and places and the impossible, all lived through and told by the hero of the story. Often he's a good wizard or wayward traveler, but always always always he saves the day in some clever way or another. He was good at that, being clever.

"The TARDIS told me," he answered.

"The TARDIS? She can talk?" This was interesting-River didn't know the ship was capable of speech. She wondered why he never mentioned it before.

"No...she could, once." His features were now glossed over with a brush of sadness, wrinkles delving into his forehead at the memory. "And she told me what it meant."

She fought the urge to swipe her fingertips through his hair, undoubtedly soft and flexible to the touch. He looked so sad for a moment, but she was used to this, the sudden changes in mood. It was awfully _them_ to do so.

"Why?"

He frowned at her, lips pursed in pension. "Spoilers."

"I _bet_," she muses, and this elicits a laugh from him. It's good to see him smile again, though he only frowned for a moment.

"You're a bit of flirt, Doctor Song." She smiles at his comment, sincere and inviting, and drops a hand to the table to reach across and squeeze his.

"Then I've given you the right impression."

This warrants a chuckle, his eyes dancing fondly across her face. He likes these times together, she thinks. He likes it when she's further ahead and knows exactly where he's going. It gives him hope, she believes, that she's able to smile with him and laugh and sit down for a quiet cup of coffee. He thinks if she's able to love him like this (she knows she's a bit of obvious about it, really) then maybe there's hope for the future.

"I think you've given me a rather devious one." He flashes her a wicked smile.

"Like I said, I've given you the right impression."

He takes her hand and lifts them from the table, placing his hand hesitantly on the small of her back. He's not sure if he can, just yet, he's still learning. She leans into his touch, encouraging him, and his hand presses firmer in a protective embrace as he walks them to the door.

They walk outside and the Doctor offers her his jacket to shield her hair from the rain but she laughs it off, walking from the overhang and into the cool raindrops pooling in the air around them.

She reaches an arm out, beckoning him to her, and he complies. Sauntering towards her, he brushes his bow-tie down and flicks his fingers underneath his braces.

"Have you kissed me yet?" Her question is blunt, but surprisingly curious, not unhappy.

"_You've_ kissed _me_," he mentions, placing his hands around her waist.

She gazes back at him, happy and accepting and now a bit wet, the rain still falling above them.

He leans in slowly, cautiously, his hearts speeding up as he bends down to kiss her. Their lips touch and he's struck at how romantic he's being, kissing her in the middle of rainstorm. He smiles to himself as they kiss, smugness settling on his features.

When he lets go he's a bit breathless, a flutter in both his chest and lower abdomen.

"And now you have," she whispers, still smiling at him.

"Yes," he answers. "Yes I have."


	24. Never Too Late

Disclaimer: I own the writing, my loves, but nothing else.

**Next chapter, huzzah! This is a song suggestion from 'bleach-otaku,' and I love all of your suggestions so thanks for them and please continue to send me ideas. As always, please review and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Never Too Late-Three Days Grace<p>

_Even if I say  
><em>_It'll be alright,  
><em>_Still I hear you say  
><em>_You want to end your life.  
><em>_Now and again we try  
><em>_To just stay alive,  
><em>_Maybe we'll turn it around  
><em>_'Cause it's not too late,  
><em>_It's never too late._

_The world we knew  
><em>_Won't come back.  
><em>_The time we've lost,  
><em>_Can't get back.  
><em>_The life we had  
><em>_Won't beat us again._

* * *

><p>"River," he coaxed. He touched the back of her arm so gently he wasn't sure she even felt it. "River." She didn't flinch. She stood in front of him, arms up, elbows cocked, gun tilted exactly 6.3 degrees to the right.<p>

River was in a different place now-she'd crossed that line to enter into anger and was slowly being consumed by the tactics she knew in her mind from so, so long ago. She had a brilliant one, filled with an endless amount of doors that shielded her from the knowledge of what she used to be, and someone had opened them.

She couldn't hear him. All sounds were muffled, all lights blending together to form a white epicenter around her target. She was aiming, and she was shooting to kill.

"River, be sensible."

His whispers were lost on her, so far gone he had absolutely no idea what to do. River wasn't thinking anymore, sense abandoning her as hatred formed behind her eyes and blinded her.

She stood as sturdy as an old tree, feet rooted to the ground and torso held proudly as she toyed with the being in front of her.

"River." It was more firm now, and the Doctor stood directly behind her as his fingers made their way from her shoulder to her hands, which clasped silver metal more habitually than he'd like to admit. "You don't have to kill him."

She would have laughed, then, at the absurdity of the situation. She would have been in _hysterics_ had she the sense to creep away from the madness enveloping her soul. The Doctor was behind her, holding the hands over her gun, attempting to free her of the monster inside her mind.

But the monster was herself and what she had been, and the childhood she'd never had with the parents she'd barely known. The monster was not patient but dormant, and had been sleeping inside of her mind for so very long now that it had grown, feeding on the pain and heartache that would fill her as she learned to love. For pain was a part of loss and loss a part of love, and all River could feel was emptiness.

Emptiness, yes, and the exact tilt of her gun that would kill the being in front of her stone dead.

"River, please," its voice wavered. This sound was not the Doctor, not coated with love and affection and fear the way his was. This was the voice of her prey, and the predator inside her tightened its grip on cool metal.

The Doctor was breathing heavily beside her now, having moved to better grapple with his hands over hers. He wasn't going to let this happen, he thought. Well, she'd proven him wrong before.

"River, listen to me. Put the gun down." It was the Doctor again, love and devotion and need ringing through her head. This was no longer a plea, but an order.

She took a step towards her target, the Doctor still holding on tightly. River saw the white bulls-eye in her mind flicker as the being shuddered, fear gripping him as he faced his death. River looked upon the man with no remorse or humanity-this man was going to die, and by her hand.

"Put the gun _down_." Again, the Doctor. He was no longer quiet, his voice distressed and exasperated. She could see, physically _see_ the life signs as warm blood heated the body in front and beside her, green and red and yellow flashing before her eyes.

"Step away, Doctor." Her voice was cool and steady, like her gun. She and the weapon had become one. "I said, step away."

"River, I won't let you do this." The Doctor's voice was the voice of reason and the voice of regret, one that has known death upon death and has never forgiven itself.

She didn't even look at him as she replied. "I never asked for your permission."

The man in front of her tried to shimmy away, taking a tentative step to the right, but River fired a single shot at his foot, sending the white light screeching.

"River, _so help me_ you will put that gun down or I will make you."

She scoffed, her curls flying away from the wildness that stayed coarse on her face.

In any other case, the shooter would have asked why or how, curious to prove the Doctor's arrogant intentions wrong. But River knew better than to let him talk, and she shoved the Doctor's hands away and took another step towards her target, gun in hand, and shot.

The bullet hit flesh and bone and the man lay dead on the floor, his corpse bloodied but now still.

River dropped the gun, hands shaking, as she pulled them to her head and fell to the floor. Pain rushed through her mind as her doors closed, barriers and shields active again, and she clutched herself into a shaking ball as she rocked herself back and forth. Humanity was filling the emptiness now, and she wasn't sure which state of being was better.

The Doctor rushed over to the dead man, running his sonic along the body, and wiped his face in frustration as he read the absence of life signs. He turned to River, eyes cold, ready to fight and argue with her and wrestle the gun from her grasp if need be, only to see her lying on the ground herself, hands tangled in her hair.

He dropped to his knees beside her, hands hovering over her back, unsure if he could or if he wanted to touch her. She swayed in circles, shaking, not looking at him.

Her mind felt like it was exploding, forces and walls waging wars in her head as she lay on the ground, rocking herself back to sanity. She had killed, she had killed, she had killed. She had _had_ to kill. Her target was what had opened the doors in her mind and it was a telepathic link that needed to be broken, no matter the cost. The universe was safer with one man dead than the possibility of her running around with the knowledge of her weaponry within her head, waiting to be unleashed. She had saved the universe, again, but the universe was unfolding inside her mind and the pain was more than she could handle.

The Doctor, unsure of what to do, looked down at her body cringing in agony. For better or for worse, he pressed his fingers to her temples and closed his eyes.

He was hit with the shock of the whirlwind chaos within her mind, doors flying open and closed and commotion surging through every part of her being. Hell was unleashed within her, and it was more than she could do to stop it. Knowing he'd regret it, he begged her telepathically to let his mind enter so that he may help her fight the war, and to his surprise, she let him.

And there they were, fighting side by side, two supremely intelligent beings fighting the monster growing inside her. They were fighting and losing and winning all at the same time, and eventually they fought back the darkness and closed the doors, locking them roughly and letting the light back in to her mind.

He dropped his hands from her head and collapsed beside her, exhausted. They lay there for a while, her in fetal position and him in a line, the cold ground a welcomed feeling to their heated bodies.

"Doctor," she rasped out. "Doctor."

He fumbled for her hand, squeezing it tightly. She didn't know if he knew or if he figured it out, that is, why she had needed to kill the man lying dead so close to them. But the Doctor was right along side her, and he hadn't left yet.

"Y-y-you didn't have to kill him." The Doctor's voice was faltering, unsure of himself.

"There was no way out," she whispered. She unfurled her body and sat up, her head aching and her body pulsating as her blood returned back to the veins within her.

He took her face in his hands, the two sitting cross-legged in front of each other, like two school children on a playground. "There's always a way out."

This let loose the rain of tears and soon River was sobbing, choking on the apologies that rose to the back of her throat. He pushed himself closer and held her frightened and shivering form, his hands strong against the weight of her back. He held her tightly, rougher than he'd ever held her before. He strained his neck as he pressed kisses to her temples, trying to soothe the post-war status of her mind.

She crumpled in his arms, her once sturdy figure now seemingly weightless, slick puddy in the mold of his old and wise body. Never relenting in her tears, she pressed kisses to the side of his neck and down to his collarbone as she attacked his body in the pursuit of knowledge.

She needed to know he was still here, still breathing, and still hers.

He kissed her back, his lips biting and sucking the exposed skin around her jaw, knowing this was exactly what she needed. Inside her mind he had understood the reason behind it, 'it' being her murder, and his hearts had dropped in his chest as he realized the sheer agony and turmoil she'd been through.

They kissed and they kissed and they made love not for the last time or the first time, but somewhere in the middle.


	25. Face Down

Disclaimer: These disclaimers are getting to tedious to write, but nevertheless I don't own anything but the writing and all rights to the BBC, no infringement intended, blah blah.

**Here's a song from 'bleach-otaku!' I've got some great suggestions from you guys coming up so get superdy-super excited for those to come to life, I guess. Thank you _so_ much for all the reviews and suggestions, your kind words brighten my summer days! I hope you continue to read and enjoy, and reviews are always appreciated.**

* * *

><p>Face Down-Red Jumpsuit Apparatus<p>

_Do you feel like a man  
><em>_When you push her around?  
><em>_Do you feel better now as she falls to the ground?  
><em>_Well, I'll tell you my friend, one day this world's going to end  
><em>_As your lies crumble down, a new life she has found._

_A pebble in the water makes a ripple effect,  
><em>_Every action in this world will bear a consequence.  
><em>_If you wade around forever you will surely drown:  
><em>_I see what's going down._

* * *

><p>"Can't you understand?" he cried, his eyes frantically searching her face for some kind of acknowledgment. "Be clever, River. This isn't a toy, give it here."<p>

Her eyes were unreasonably angry, rage and fury setting fire in the dark furnace of her pupils. She stood her ground, feet planted shoulder's-width apart and hands placed calmly at her sides. Chin held high, River was not going to lose the battle, no matter the slight frightened flutter of her chest.

"Give me the controls." It was a command, an order issued by her fine-tuned soldier.

She never broke her stare, never lifted a finger to her holster. She stayed exactly where she was, a cool demeanor hiding the fire blazing underneath.

"I told you to give me the controls!" The Doctor's voice had escalated now and River could tell he was closing in on fury. She knew how he could get when emotional, but she didn't sway her position. River Song would not take orders from anyone.

"No."

Her response stunned him into silence and he had to take a large gulp of air before continuing, incredulous. "What?"

"Come now, Doctor. I said 'no.' "

His figure swayed a bit, unsure if it wanted to take a step towards or away from River. Her icy glare was chilling but the Doctor was unrelenting. He was determined to fight this war and to win, though River's one-woman army was uncompromising and incorrigible.

They stayed like that for a while, staring into each other's eyes, until the Doctor stepped forwards and held out his hand, almost in a blasé fashion.

"Give it to me, River." he sighed, motioning with his outstretched hand towards the worn slab in hers. It was a sacred object that belonged to the natives of the planet, though a legion of Cybermen had stormed onto the planet and realized its potential to fit perfectly within their machine. The Cybermen were hours away from activating their new factory until the Doctor had arrived to intervene. Now River and the Doctor were left with a room full of dead robots and a few scattered humans, the control slab in River's hands. "Don't make it hard for yourself."

"Don't patronize me, Doctor." Her determination was steely and resolute, unwavering.

The Doctor took this moment to look around the battlefield the dance hall had become. Dead bodies of various Cybermen littered the ground and blood stained both of their clothing, and he noticed a small bit of her hair was blackened from an outlying shot that had singed her golden tips. She stood almost heroic in the midst of it all, he thought, though a hero she was not.

He pushed his hand a little more out and River reacted by lifting the controls high above her head, her resolve still adamant and unmoving.

"We both know you're not going to set it off, River, and there's no way to disarm it. What purpose does it have to you? Give it to me, I have to destroy it. No one should have their hands on this again."

She laughed, a short, deep laugh that echoed throughout the hall. "No, you're right, Doctor. I'm not going to set it off."

His shoulders sagged a bit in what seemed like relief, as if he hadn't quite believed that to be true until now.

"I'm not going to set it off," she repeated. "But this belongs to someone else and is not yours to keep."

He stared at her with an expression both pained and questioning, unknowing of where River was heading with the turn in the conversation. He _hated_ not knowing.

"And why is that?"

She smiled a smile full of conceit, then dialed in coordinates on her wrist before vanishing.

He was frozen to the bone, unable to make any decision regarding movement. He stared at the spot where she had been moments before, air engulfing the space that had once held the battered and bruised River.

He clenched his fists at his sides, pure anger rippling through him. She thought she could deny him and then just _leave_ him whenever she damn well pleased, but she was wrong. The Doctor was angry, now. He was angry that he hadn't been able to save the human participants in the dance hall and angry that River could outsmart him so easily and angry that she would leave him to clean up what was partially her mess. The Doctor was angry.

So when she shocked him by materializing in front of him just moments after her departure, he took hold of her wrist and clasped it tightly. In a blaze of white light, River had gone then come back as quickly as she'd left, though now she held no panel in her other hand.

He forced her down to the ground and stood over her, hand on wrist, still full of choler and irritability. She looked up at him then with such hatred he felt his eyes soften in remorse, though his grip remained unchanged.

"Let go of me, Doctor." Her voice was cool but she was angry now, too, he could feel it in the pulse beneath his fingertips.

"Where's the slab?" She glared back at him, silent. "River, you will tell me where it is!"

She formed her hand into a fist and shook her wrist to free his grasp but he held tight, unyielding.

"I gave the slab back to the original owners."

His mouth dropped open in disbelief. "But they don't know how to handle it-they could set it off any minute! River, you've just sent an entire planet to its destruction!"

"No, I disabled the electric currents that run through it, so it's no harm to anyone."

His grip relented the smallest bit but he did not let go. "That's impossible, River. How did you do that?"

"I hot-wired the metal links and fried them. Went to a lava planet and used the gaseous exterior to help me-all it took was a little heat."

"But that's brilliant." The Doctor had completely released her hand now and was staring down at her in wonder. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

She stood up and dusted herself off. "Because you wouldn't have listened, Doctor, because you don't understand the religious significance it has to these people. That's something you can't understand." She paused, looking him squarely in the eye. "Some people need faith, Doctor, even if its a blind faith. Technology and danger aren't important to them, for what use to them is technology if there's no belief it will change anything?"

He gazed back at her, now slightly sheepish and retreating into himself. River had shown him himself yet again, and, as usual, the Doctor felt ashamed. He had to admit she was right, sometimes.

He watched her examine her wrist and felt a wave of regret wash over him. "I'm s-sorry," he stammered.

"For grabbing me or not trusting me?" Her gaze narrowed him down to make him feel like a small child, her issued splendor radiating off her bruised figure.

"Both."

She moved herself closer to him so she stood directly in front of him, her hand resting habitually on her gun.

"If you dare touch me again, I swear, Doctor. I swear I will never come back."

Her threat echoed in every bone of his body, his once furious resolve now melted into an apology.

"And if you don't trust me," she said, her voice now wavering slightly to match the tears beginning in her eyes. "Then how are we ever going to work?"

He wrapped his arms around her in a woeful embrace, the pair both fighting back tears. She sighed into him but did not return the hug, deciding instead to leave her hands by her side. He held on to her with a woebegone need, unable to answer the question she had posed.

"I'm trying to, River, I'm trying."

She gasped back tears and let him hold her, her chest tightening with pain. He was so young and had so far to go, but River wasn't sure how much more she could take. His mistrust was so agonizingly painful and it burned her inside as she felt him slip through her fingers. She was losing him slowly and surely, and there was nothing she could do about it. The worst part was that she had no one to tell, because the only person she'd ever disclosed herself to was the one causing her misfortune-the Doctor was the only person she trusted and he was gradually disappearing into oblivion.

She felt her arms reach up to hug him back, water stinging her eyes as she held on for dear life.


	26. Smile Like You Mean It

Disclaimer: All rights to BBC, etc.

**Here's a fluff one after the last few angsty or so, a song suggestion from 'bleach-otaku.' Eternal thanks for the reviews and please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Smile Like You Mean It-The Killers<p>

_Save some face, you know you've only got one.  
><em>_Change your ways while you're young.  
><em>_Boy, one day you'll be a man,  
><em>_Oh girl, he'll help you understand.  
><em>_Smile like you mean it:  
><em>_Smile like you mean it._

_Looking back at sunsets on the Eastside  
><em>_We lost track of the time,  
><em>_Dreams aren't what they used to be,  
><em>_Some things sat by so carelessly._

* * *

><p>River leaned against his body as she sat beside him, the two perched precariously on iron railing.<p>

She sighed, running her hands along his inner thigh, testing both his will power and hers. He caught her fingers in his hand and lifted them to his mouth for a quick kiss before placing them on top of her own thighs. She was young tonight, and he was not going to spoil that.

The skyline of the city lit up for them, the night dark and cool as the brilliance of golden light bellowed from city buildings, rising higher and higher but not quite as high as them.

They were sitting on top of her university's roof, specifically on the top of the music building. Tonight's symphony trumpeted on below them, unaware of the two bodies held closely together on top of their heads. The music surrounded them as they looked on happily, delighting in the harmonies and melodies as well as the beauty of the view.

River came up here often, it seemed, by the way she'd taken his hand and led him up the stairs with ease. He was far ahead of her as far as timelines went, but she was not young enough to have never known the extent of their intimacy. It'd been a struggle to get up here-she kept attacking his face with kisses as he shimmied his way up the stairs and out the door, attempting to discourage her hormone-fueled antics.

She'd finally stopped and the Doctor was endlessly relieved, because he wasn't sure how much more his own body could've resisted until he was reacting good and well to her advances.

He turned his cheek to look at her, her profile radiating beauty in the warmth of the summer night. She was just recently back in school, late August, and the workload hadn't begun to drain her yet. She was still functioning as well as she could with little sleep and much partying, not allowing the fact of who she was to keep her from enjoying the essential university aspects of her life.

Her nose was curved slightly and rounded to a firm point, a sparse speckling of freckles from the long summer most likely spent lying lazily out in the sun. The day was the time where she rested, the night being the optimum time for adventuring and sneaking around.

Her eyes were ever-changing between a subtle blue to a golden hazel to a greenish tint, but tonight they blazed a greenish-gold that mirrored the lights of the city panned out before them.

Her lips set in a careful smile, he could see the perfect and symmetrical curve of her upper lip as it connected with the lower one, a beautiful rounded edge that filled out to make a luscious-looking sweep of mouth. Her smile blended itself well to her cheeks, two prominent globes circulating below her eyes but originating from the corners of her mouth. Her cheekbones jutted out but not too much so, the perfect blend to the contours of her features and the tendrils of her curls.

Chestnut-golden roots sprouted from the top of her head, making way to yellowed-golden curls that flared wildly around her face. Her hair was the epitome of herself, feral and unmanageable but utterly gorgeous. It was growing increasingly difficult to not trace his fingers along the soft skin of her face, so he turned back to embrace the view as a welcomed distraction.

"What have you been up to lately, River?"

She widened her smile to a smirk, a remnant of what used to be the smug grin she'd give him in his early days.

"Oh, stuff. Lots of stuff."

"What kind of stuff?" He realized she was winding him up, but let her do it anyway.

She paused, making a show of licking her lips. "Fun stuff."

"I like fun things," he said. He tightened his grip on the iron railing, trying to distract himself from the breathing of her chest.

"And I as well," she replied.

He looked her squarely in the eyes. "I won't tell your parents, if that's what you're worried about."

She laughed at this, throwing her head back in a throaty chortle. "I sure hope not, because then you'd have to tell them about the things _we've_ done."

He blushed, cheeks growing redder as heat rushed to his face. He mumbled something incoherent and she shrugged it off, pleased she had him speechless.

An idea popped into her head and she got up, slipping her legs from the ground to the lower level of the railing to the level where she'd been sitting. Using her hands as support, she lifted her feet to stand on top of the iron, feeling the cool night breeze blow past her face and through her hair.

"River, what are you doing?" His voice was flustered, flabbergasted as he waved his arms around maniacally, gesturing for her to get down. "You could get hurt up there!"

"I could get hurt being within ten feet from _you_," she pointed out. "Rooftop or not."

He sighed, frustrated as she'd gotten the better of him, but still uneasy about her choice of stance.

"Stupidly dangerous," he cautioned.

"Yep," she commented. "I like it too."

He sighed again, his shoulder sagging heavily as he pushed himself up to join her. "I can't believe you're making me do this."

"Oh honey, I can't make you do anything." She paused, considering this. "Except come when I call."

"Don't _even_ turn that into an innuendo, I know you're going to." He was standing beside her now, looking out at the view whilst balancing his weight on the balls of his feet. It was exciting and thrilling, standing here with a symphony and chorus erupting around them, night lights blazing out as far as the eye could see. They were teetering on the edge of life and death, but somehow he felt completely safe.

"You know me well," she laughed. She stuck her hand out for his and he accepted, brushing the side of his body against hers as they clung to each other, iron and feet the only things keeping them from tumbling over the edge.

He grinned, nuzzling his nose into her hair. "More than you know," he replied.

"More than I'd like," she breathed out. "No secrets for myself."

"Who needs secrets?" His question was genuine, not precisely curious but fully honest.

She turned to look at him, slowly, wary of shifting her weight as they now depended on each other to stay steady. "You seem to have an abundance of them," she quipped.

"Those are spoilers, not secrets."

She sighed, gripping his hand tighter. "Oh sweetie, you've those too, but those aren't the only things you're hiding from me." At that, she motioned to the gravel and they jumped back to the sturdiness of the rooftop, no longer swaying precariously between life and death.

He considered replying in the negative, but could see her point and knew she'd prove him wrong in the end. "River Song," he began, deciding on a different topic of conversation. "Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?"

She smiled and crinkled her nose, torn between irritation at his evasion of the subject and delight over the center of the new one. She gripped his bow-tie in one hand and pulled him close to her, pressing their bodies into their familiar mold. "You charmer, you."

"Oh, stop it." His mouth was curved into a smile, a smug countenance that was both devilishly arrogant and endlessly charming.

"Make me," she breathed out, delighting in the tensing of his muscles as she did.

He scooped her into his arms, resulting in a series of surprised squeals and giggles from River before replying. "Maybe I will."


	27. What's the Use of Wond'rin?

Disclaimer: Honestly, I own nothing but the writing.

**I'm off for two weeks but I've uploaded the ones I've finished to my documents, so hopefully I'll get to update at least a few. I know I've been good about daily ones but for a while there won't be daily, so I'm sorry but you'll have to wait, though I hope this doesn't discourage anyone from reading! Thank you for the glowing reviews, and please please please read/enjoy/review!**

* * *

><p>What's the Use of Wond'rin'?-Amanda Palmer feat. Annie Clark<p>

_What's the use of wond'rin'  
><em>_If he's good or if he's bad?  
><em>_He's your fella, and you love him,  
><em>_That's all there is to that._

_Common sense may tell you  
><em>_That the ending will be sad,  
><em>_And now's the time  
><em>_To break and run away._

_But what's the use of wond'rin'  
><em>_If the ending will be sad?  
><em>_He's your fella, and you love him.  
><em>_There's nothing more to say._

* * *

><p>River stared at him from the bed of her cell, disappointment and exhaustion gracing her features. He stood just a few meters away from her, metal bars and space the only things separating them. But she did not stand up to greet him or raise herself from the bed as soon as she'd heard the TARDIS materialize, opting instead to stay where she sat.<p>

He stood there quietly and innocently, waiting for River to heave herself up and walk over to him. He stayed that way for a good half a minute, most likely the longest period of time he'd spent not talking in the last month, watching her from outside the cell.

Her face was a complicated mix of emotions, a combination of frustration and gloom and acceptance. She knew these feelings well, each appearing more and more in her life as the years went by.

The Doctor stood quiet and full of apprehension, his mind somehow not forming the words used for common greetings. It was as if he'd forgotten them, simple knowledge cast aside to be replaced by ideas both inferior and ill-suited for his needs. His mouth kept dropping open the slightest bit as it attempted to speak, each try resulting in no response.

"You're late."

Her voice was eerily calm, giving him the notion she'd had plenty of time to think that one phrase over and over again so often it'd lost its meaning.

"A time lord is never late, nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to." His effort at humor was met with no smile or laugh, an unforgiving silence attacking the air. "All right, I'm late."

"Six months late," she offered. River still hadn't moved from her position on the bed, watching him behind tired eyes.

The Doctor frowned and scratched his head. "Six months?"

"Yes." She drawled out the vowel sound, emphasizing her displeasure.

She expected him to burst into some form of half apology and was surprised when he remained silent, choosing instead to continually scratch his cheek with so much force she was afraid he would rub the skin raw.

He took a step towards the bars and raised his sonic to the door, flicking his wrist up as he unlocked the cell. Stashing the screwdriver in his coat pocket, he slid the door to the side as he made way to enter. His back against the wall, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and faced her.

Pursing her lips in his lack of an apology, she clicked her tongue and moved on her bed so that she leaned against the wall as well, mirroring his indifferent mien. Waiting for him to speak, her brow furrowed in annoyance as he looked upon her with a blank expression. She was finding it hard to read the current state of his visage, features angled in a vacant manner, and that frustrated her.

"No apology?"

She held her chin up the slightest bit higher, provoking his large sense of pride and dignity.

"I'm not apologizing for something I haven't done yet."

"Oh?" she withheld the urge to feel startled as he gazed back at her with unpromising eyes. "You aren't?"

He shook his head once, hair falling to the side, and moved his hands to lean them behind his body, anchoring him to the wall. "Not today."

She unfolded her arms in an unconscious reaction to his absence of regret. He was standing up to her, telling her 'no', something neither of them was used to. This was new territory, and if she thought she was mad at him before for showing up late than she was absolutely furious in the present.

"And why's that, sweetie?" she tried hard to keep her tone cool and unwavering.

"Well," he paused, stretching his back and shoulders. He walked over to her and popped her on the nose, smiling a little too smugly for River's taste. "Because you are not the boss of me." Each word was enunciated carefully, the sentence an embellished staccato.

She leapt from her mattress and grabbed his wrists, holding on firmly as she stood directly in front of him, the concept of personal space forgotten. Her eyes blazed back at him as he made an effort to tower over her, wriggling his wrists lightly to free himself of her gasp. River held tight, though, and pushed herself closer.

"I'm going to make you wish you hadn't said that," she whispered, her lips now close enough to his ear to send an uncontrollable shiver down his spine.

Her grip and her mouth and her proximity were all combining to seduce him, his power in the situation slowly melting away. The Doctor stood tall, attempting an immovable front, but River saw easily through his facade. He shook his wrists rougher now, trying in earnest to escape her secure grasp.

"I'd like to see you try." It was meant to intimidate, but his words fell less to formidable and more to an invitation, not of his own accord.

River twisted him around so that the back of his knees hit the bed, almost causing him to collapse backwards. She smiled with so much depravation he thought she'd explode, his knees going weaker to finally submit to the aforementioned task of swooning. Falling onto the bed, he shook his arms with extensive fervor as River climbed on top of his lap, trapping him to the mattress.

"I'm rather cross with you," she mentioned, laughing to herself as he tried to free his wrists with no avail. "And you've been rather rude."

She sat atop him with a broad smirk as she slid her fingers from his wrists to his hands, interlocking his fingers with hers.

"You've been away for six months and I don't like to wait."

She leaned forward as she ghosted her lips over the plane of his neck, delighting in the small shivers running down his body that would consequently result from the sheer possibility of contact.

"Now, River-" he was interrupted by their hands over his mouth, his state of powerlessness now fully evident.

She continued, ignoring him. "And not even one 'sorry'?"

Grinding her hips into his, she broke out into an even wider smile as his eyes grew wide as saucers. She felt his lips grow dry underneath the palm of her hands, and she moved away their intertwined fingers to plant a smooth kiss on his lips.

Her face lit up as she broke away from him. "I'm going to make you wish you had."


	28. The Scientist

Disclaimer: Nothing, all lost, all gone. I own the writing and nothing else.

**This song is a request from 'CountryGrl,' and I hope I did it justice. Thanks for being patient with my now-weird posting schedule, I'm lucky to have occasional Internet so here you are! As always, thanks so so much for the reviews, they really spur me on, and please please read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>The Scientist-Coldplay<p>

_Come up to meet you,  
><em>_Tell you I'm sorry,  
><em>_You don't know how lovely you are.  
><em>_I had to find you,  
><em>_Tell you I need you,  
><em>_Tell you I set you apart.  
><em>_Tell me your secrets  
><em>_And ask me your questions,  
><em>_Oh, let's go back to the start.  
><em>_Running in circles,  
><em>_Calling tails,  
><em>_Heads on a silence apart._

* * *

><p>He watched her from the bed, half-covered in downy sheets and hoisted up so that his body was almost in a sitting position. He leaned against the headboard as he gazed at River through the doorway, unnoticed, who stood innocently as she stared into the mirror.<p>

She was wearing his red-striped shirt and it hung looser than he would have expected around her curves, though tight in all the right places. The collar was unbuttoned lower than he would have had had he been wearing it, but the plunging neckline suited her awfully well. The shirt stopped right at the tops of her thighs, exposing nothing of major interest except for the long expanse of her legs, which gave off a golden glow as the tanned skin shone in the morning daylight.

Her leg muscles were pulled taut as she stretched herself up on the tips of her toes, concentrating on the mirror as she gently applied mascara. He admired the way the musculature of her legs caved in with defined edges and shadows, accentuating the athletic appearance of her body. Her mouth was open slightly in an endearing fashion as she put on her make-up, eyes held wide open to accommodate the black brush playing with her eyelashes.

Her hair looked blonder than usual with the sun's rays dancing over the tips, her curls all messed but pulled back into a messy bun in an attempt at containment.

She put down the tube of mascara and he watched her slender fingers place it on the bathroom counter, still focused on the mirrored image before her. He smiled to himself at the sight, youth and beauty emanating off her as she stood yards away from him in the bathroom.

The Doctor would have been content to look at her all morning, but River turned to him and brought a hand up to her chest in surprise, nearly jumping back from his gaze.

"And good morning to you, my love. You gave me a fright!" She flashed him a sweet smile, eyes and teeth gleaming.

He smiled back at her as she made her way over to the bed, coming to sit on the side closest to him. She was still young and this was relatively new to her, and her slight bashfulness in the mornings was something he found so unlike her but endlessly charming.

"Good morning," he nodded. He stretched his shoulders out lazily, bringing his arms to rest behind his head. "How did you sleep?"

She pursed her lips, almost as if she was deep in thought, before replying. "Well. And yourself?"

He brought his arms back down to the bed, placing them above his sheet-covered lap. "It's amazing, actually. I always sleep so well in your bed. No nightmares."

One of his hands left his lap to toy with the hem of his/her shirt, tracing the border of the red and white stripes. It scooped at her side purely for fashion, though right now it was giving him a pleasant view of her skin. He brushed his fingertips across her hip and chuckled as he felt her shudder lightly in response.

"Well, you've an open invitation to sleep here as often as you like." She leaned towards him, straining on her side to bring her face closer to his.

"Is that a promise, River?" he mused, lifting his hand underneath the shirt to skate over the warmth of her curves. His fingertips danced over hips, waist, and the side of her breasts to pull forth a small giggle from her lips.

She leaned closer to him yet again, placing a soft kiss underneath his jaw, before answering. "You know, you're making it awfully hard to get sleep around here. And I need sleep to be able to focus, assuming I want to get my doctorate."

He scoffed but in a kind-hearted way, gripping her waist and back with one hand. "Who needs archaeology, anyway? That's what a time machine is for."

She laughed deeply and it echoed through him, her lips still tender against his exposed skin. "If I had a time machine that actually took me where and when I wanted to go, you might have a point."

He pouted, his floppy brown hair falling into his eyes. With his free hand, he tucked the tuft obscuring his vision and pushed it behind one ear, now stroking River's back with the other. "It's not my fault she's got a mind of her own," he grumbled.

"The old girl's wonderful for adventures, darling, but not for vacations."

He lifted his other hand to her clothed waist, making it so that he held her waist with both hands, one on top of and the other underneath his/her shirt. He shifted her so she sat atop his lap, her legs now moved to straddle him. She smirked at his inability to keep his hands to himself, not-so-secretly pleased at his admiration for her body. She pulled her hair loose with one tug, curls cascading down on to her shoulders.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her neck, an action that resulted in a happy giggle from River. "Don't diss my boxy lady," he murmured into her skin.

She smiled at him, lips stretched in a broad simper. "Stop it dear, you'll make her jealous."

He pushed himself into River, causing her to fall back onto the bed as he shifted on top of her, nothing between them but the slipping sheet and the shirt she was wearing. She roped her legs around him, crossing them on his back. He continued to press kisses down her neck and on the sensitive spot near her collarbone, each one eliciting a breathy gasp from River.

"But I am a bit curious, Doctor."

"Mm?" He was still trailing his way across her skin, hands now resting on either side of her shoulders as he pressed them into the mattress.

"You showed up rather unexpectedly last night. Was there a reason? Or were you just in the mood for a late night?"

He flushed a faded red, his cheeks warm in self-consciousness as he lifted his eyes and head up to face her. "I wanted to see you, is that so wrong of me?"

"Not wrong, no. Just unlike you."

He sat up reluctantly and she followed, the two now sitting cross-legged on the bed while simultaneously entangled with the other's limbs.

"You're much too clever for yourself, do you know that?" He gazed at her affectionately, delighting in the sunny glow of her complexion.

She leaned in and placed a kiss on his lips, close-mouthed and gentle, before tangling her fingers in his hair, roping themselves around his neck as an action of endearment. She held him like this in the way only a young lover can, steady and alluring while also timidly shy. Though he missed the later version of River, he often appreciated the nuances that came with the young and relative-to-him inexperienced one before him.

"You didn't answer my question," she stated.

He began to move forward for another kiss but she denied him, leaning back as she waited for a response. He sighed, his tactics for distraction obviously ineffective.

"I missed you," he said, oddly wistful though entirely honest.

"Getting sentimental in your old age, Doctor?"

He returned her witty remark with a sad smile, his eyes lighting up in melancholy recognition.

"Forget I said anything," she said, quick to replace the sad air that permeated their conversation. "I'm glad you came back."

He looked at her then with such a deep misery it nearly broke her heart, so she pressed a kiss to his mouth with closed eyes in an attempt to hide her gaze from the weariness that drowned him. She kissed him eagerly the way high-school lovers do, as if in the knowledge that their time is precious and fleeting and too soon they'll have to part ways and go home. She kissed him, abating the ephemeral transcendence of their relationship, hungry to kiss away the pain.

He broke the kiss with a turn of his head, both of them panting lightly.

"I always come back," he whispered.


	29. Save the Last Dance

Disclaimer: I own the writing and plot, I suppose, but not the characters or Doctor Who. Those rights go their respective owners.

**The plot outline and song was suggested by 'greyspell' and it is so fun to write all of your wonderful ideas in the comments, so thanks for those! Thank you for being patient and continuing to review, please read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Save the Last Dance-Michael Bublé<p>

_You can dance, go and carry on  
><em>_Till the night is gone  
><em>_And it's time to go.  
><em>_If he asks if you're all alone  
><em>_Can he walk you home, you must tell him no  
><em>_'Cause don't forget who's taking you home  
><em>_And in whose arms you're gonna be,  
><em>_So save the last dance for me._

* * *

><p>He checked the scanner, routine environment checks, and upon seeing where he was broke out into a large smile. He turned quickly on his heels and headed back into the wardrobe room, his mind set on exactly what he wanted to wear.<p>

When he emerged back in the console room, he was sporting a midnight blue bow-tie with a black tailored suit, looking very professional save the off-black combat boots on his feet. He took a final look in the scanner screen, using it's reflective surface as a mirror, and wiped his teeth over with his tongue before spinning around and heading towards the doors. With a single push, he was out.

He had landed himself in the corner of a very busy room, full of people who were half-drunk and dancing carelessly. The TARDIS had told him he'd landed in the middle of a 51st century soiree, and the Doctor was quite pleased at the idea of a long night of dancing. There would be no Amy this time to tell him off, not that he would need her to. He was actually a _fabulous_ dancer.

He bent down and scuffed his hands across his shoes one last time before deciding to look around the room and people-watch. It was early and there was plenty of time in the night to dance, so the Doctor made himself comfortable on a barstool as he scoped out the hall.

It seemed to be some sort of gala, a grand ball honoring someone or another. He figured it would probably be smart to figure out whose it was, but he couldn't bring himself to care enough. Besides, it was more fun this way.

As he scanned the room for people who seemed more interesting than the others, he caught sight of a twirling mass of curls. _It couldn't be_, he thought. He got off of his stool and switched to a chair at a mostly empty table, vying for a closer look. _It is!_

Before him was Doctor River Song, dancing a mean swing with a man he'd never seen before. He broke out into a broad grin as he watched her from afar, admiring the twist and curve of her every movement. The back of her dress scooped low and gave a brilliant view of her shoulder muscles which twisted and contracted as her partner sent her flying, her feet as light as air. She spun with such ease on her grandiose heels he half-expected they were the only shoes she really wore. Her hair was down but contained, probably by some hairspray or another, and it shone golden under the dim lights of the dance hall.

He watched as her dance partner leant in and murmured something in her ear, resulting in a back-arching laugh from River and slight stomach contraction for the Doctor. He looked down quickly, as if he could see right through himself, and blushed in embarrassment as he looked back to the glass of water he had received from a random server. He was glad, then, that he was not with anyone who could see his youthful stupidity.

The song came to a close and the Doctor pondered getting up to greet her, but right as he was about to stand a young man swooped in beside her and held out his hand, an invitation River did not refuse.

The Doctor furrowed his brow as his stomach jolted again, this new sensation an oddly familiar one. He kept a close eye on River and smiled wide when he caught her eye, their greenish-blue sparkling from even meters away.

He mouthed a 'hello' and waited for a response, only to realize she hadn't really seen him. He was confused by the upset feeling this gave him, tightening his hold on his glass. He stayed rooted to the spot, his desire to dance outweighed by the want to watch her glide around the dance floor.

She was beautiful, spinning and circling the floor, each song's end bringing a new man with an open hand. She danced as if it was as easy as breathing and something she'd done all her life, a practice repeated so often that her steps were perfectly precise in where they wanted to go.

The various men approaching her gave the Doctor that same jolt every time one appeared, much to his bemusement.

He kept gripping his glass tighter until he realized he was squeezing it so hard it was a wonder it hadn't broken into a thousand little shards. Deciding he was in need of a much required distraction, he tore his eyes away from River's bending figure to admire the room they were in.

It had an enormously high ceiling, the sides of the walls forming in the center to create a dome. It was patterned with little squares within a large grid that was plastered over the whole ceiling, the inner squares a dark gold color and the outlines a paler yellow. There was a white wood trim along the pale-golden walls, hitting a light birch-colored floor full of wooden planks. There were sparse round tables around the edges of the room, each table accompanied by a set of around seven chairs. The bar he had sat nearby earlier was in the corner close to the TARDIS, the many attendees of the night failing to notice the bright blue box that had randomly appeared.

He had been sure to keep the brakes on silent this time, as he didn't want to spoil the music. He had asked the TARDIS to take him to a party, and a party she had given him. Only this one had an extra surprise: the mysteriously beautiful River Song.

Who, once again, had gotten his attention with the smile on her lips and flow of her dress.

By this time an obscene amount of men had had their share of River's hand and waist, her feet never seeming to touch the ground as a new guy popped up to lead her next. The Doctor felt his pulse quicken and heat rise to the back of his neck, which resulted in his hand reaching up to scratch the side of one cheek. He paused in the middle of the action, staring at his fingers, and suddenly realized what he'd been feeling all night. The Doctor was _jealous_.

He shook his head to himself, denying the possibility of that truth. Why would he be jealous? There was no reason for him to be jealous. She didn't belong to him and she could dance with whomever she wanted-so why was he growing increasingly more upset?

At a sudden end in the music, the Doctor tore himself out of his epiphany to hear the band's lead singer speak.

"All right ladies and gents, it's that time we know so well. It's the last dance of the night so we'll give you a five minute break to consider who that last partner's gonna be, which is also enough time to grab another drink before the bar closes. Remember, choose wisely!"

Not of his own accord, the Doctor found himself standing and brushing people aside as he made his way over to River, who was currently studying the damage done by her shoes to her feet. He cleared his throat and held what he hoped was a courtly expression on his face as she looked up and smiled, hands moving to her hips.

"Well hello sweetie, I didn't know you were invited to the ball. Nor that you've been here at all, mind you." Her dress was even more beautiful up close, he decided.

"Not invited, no. Crashed," he pointed to the TARDIS which sat ignored in the corner.

Her face flashed in jovial recognition and she smiled again, a certain smugness highlighting her features. "Me too," she mouthed.

He let out a small laugh, pleased at his lack of expectancy. "I didn't know you could dance, Doctor Song."

"_You_ must be young, then."

He straightened his stance, hands moving to twiddle with his bow-tie. "You keep saying that but I'm really not, you know."

"Yes," she replied. "You are."

They were interrupted by the band's singer again, telling them the song was to start momentarily. So with one eyebrow cocked he held out his arm, a chivalrous offer that elicited a surprised gasp from River. "Care to join me for the last dance?"

She laughed, her hand drawn up to her chest. She shook her head before responding, "Absolutely not. You're an awful dancer."

"Hey!" The color of his cheeks rose as he continued to stare at her, the want to contradict her bubbling up in his chest. "I'm a _great_ dancer. Besides, you've definitely already danced with _every_ man here."

Her mouth formed an astonished 'o' as she glanced back at him. "Jealous, Doctor?"

"It's a new feeling, but apparently yes." He watched her smirk in return, evidently delighted at his showcase of emotions. His hand still held out, he continued. "Well?"

She sighed heavily, feigning dissatisfaction. "Only because your dimples appear when you're jealous."

He swept her into his grasp, one hand on her waist and the other in hers, waiting for the music to begin. It started up with the sound of instruments clashing together until the song began a soft rendition of some old Earth classic, a lovely slow melody that whispered through the swaying bodies around them.

He moved his other hand to her waist, careful not to drift any lower or higher than he had to. She held both her hands around his neck, her fingers toying with the hair set at the nape of his neck, twisting little strands between her smooth fingertips. Their bodies drew closer, the pair of hips moving synchronously and without much hesitation.

"Well, I must admit I'm impressed," she said, looking up into his eyes. "You haven't stepped on my foot once."

"I told you I was a great dancer," he countered. She laughed at that, her lips and eyes positively radiant with joy.

"Is this your first time dancing with me?" she murmured, pulling herself back to look him fully in the eyes.

He hesitated, considering the sadness he knew would undoubtedly seep into her face at his response. He withheld a sigh as he knew he would tell her the truth. "Yes, the first. Even though it's supposedly the last, which is ironic. Though I suppose..." he trailed off.

Her eyes dimmed as he expected, hooded with that plaguing misery that followed their time-wimey relationship. "Let's make it good, yeah?"

He pulled her closer with only a little reluctance, tugging her body nearer to his with the strength of his hands on her waist. She rested her head on his shoulder, determined to enjoy the experience while it lasted. Her future and their past were slipping away from her, but for now the present was sending her a Doctor willing enough to touch her, and that was all she could ever ask for.

"I can see why I like you," he mumbled into her curls. Her grip on him tightened just the smallest bit, her nails barely scratching the skin on the back of his neck.

"That you will," she whispered. It was so quiet he almost didn't catch it, a soft-spoken response susurrated into the fabric covering his shoulder.

They danced together, moving slowly and tentatively, trying to hold onto a moment they knew Time would want to take away.


	30. Welcome to My Life

Disclaimer: All rights to the BBC, etc. No infringement intended.

**Song suggestion by 'Miz636,' I'm posting it quickly so not a longer author's note, sorry. THANKS for reviewing as always, please read/review/enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Welcome to My Life-Simple Plan<p>

_Do you ever feel like breaking down?  
><em>_Do you ever feel out of place?  
><em>_Like somehow you just don't belong  
><em>_And no one understands you?  
><em>

_Do you ever wanna run away?  
><em>_Do you lock yourself in your room  
><em>_With the radio on turned up so loud  
><em>_That no one hears you screaming?_

_No, you don't know what it's like  
><em>_When nothing feels all right,  
><em>_You don't know what it's like to be like me._

* * *

><p>River looked up from her seat on the sofa as the TARDIS materialized in the middle of her living room. This was odd-the Doctor always landed just outside her door so she had the advantage of knowing, at least a little bit, when he would be arriving. But tonight the Doctor landed mere meters away from her, not bothering to wait for her permission to enter.<p>

She was confused and now a small bit worried, hoping the time lord, who would momentarily hop out of his box, was okay.

The doors flung open and her heart sank as the Doctor all but collapsed out, barely clinging to any shards of dignity. Looking him over, she decided his appearance was perfectly normal except for the tear-stained cheeks and the hollowed eyes set deep within his face.

"Doctor?" Her plea was quiet, a soft-spoken title to caress the hurting man before her.

He shook his head with wide eyes, mouth closed, forehead wrinkles fighting to prove just how old the man was. His ancient heart was breaking and the only thing she had to piece it back together was her love, which she hoped and knew would have to be enough.

"They were children," he breathed out. The words seemed as if they had been pulled from far within him, riding his blood from the pit of his stomach all the way up to his throat. "Children," he repeated, body shaking lightly.

He slid down to the ground with his knees drawn up, his back pressed against the doors of the TARDIS and hands covering his face. River moved to kneel in front of him, not touching him, staying beside him in a decision to wait out the storm of tears and anger that would undoubtedly arise.

He pressed his fingers deeper into his face then removed them quickly, hurt and anger taking the place of sadness in his wounded eyes.

"It's not fair!" he roared, still crouched on the floor. "They were _children_."

He shook his head again, though this time out of disbelief, and stared at River with so much force she was afraid it would knock her over.

"Do you have _any_ idea how wrong that is? And it's my fault, it's all my fault," his lips began to quiver. "It's always my fault."

She reached to stroke the side of his leg in comfort but he jerked away from her touch, his legs sliding underneath him so that he kneeled back at her.

"I couldn't stop them. I can always stop them-why couldn't I stop them?"

River felt her chest drop as she looked back at the Doctor, the soldier waging a never-ending war against himself. He was so arrogant sometimes, which more often than not suited him well and turned her on the slightest bit, but this was an example of when his hubris would cause him to fall. And when the Doctor fell, he fell hard.

"I'm the cleverest being in all the universe but I can't stop children from dying?"

His face was so full of honest disbelief and pain that River was struggling to not mirror his emotions on her own, her cool demeanor a needed distraction to the raging time lord.

"What is the point of me?" This last phrase was shouted so loudly she was afraid the neighbors would wake up, even though her walls had been soundproofed by Torchwood. He stood and then crumpled into a heap on the couch, head in knees, as he wrung his hands out as if he was shaking off the blood of countless deaths.

She rested on her spot on the floor, waiting to see if the Doctor would continue. Seeing that he was finished, she stood up slowly and came to sit beside him. She sat there in silence, knowing her companionship was the best comfort she could give him. Words of reason would fall flat in his head right now, and River couldn't ever claim to identify with the pain in his hearts. He was impossibly unique and bore the weight of a century behind closed doors in his mind, and River would never be able to abate that.

After an extensive period of hiding his crying, the Doctor wiped his hands on his jacket and trousers, standing up in a swift but oddly bereft motion.

He walked over to the TARDIS and was about to push his way through the doors until he felt a soft pulse resting on his shoulders, River's hands held gingerly atop them. He turned to face her, his usually cheery resolve replaced by sunken eyes and trembling lips. She felt a single tear brush past her cheek as her eyes released it, a single tear her subtle recognition of his endless suffering.

He collapsed into her, letting River hold him lovingly as he sobbed into her shoulder. There were no more words between them for a while, just the calming presence of their bodies pressed together and their hearts beating a placid rhythm. His cries eventually slowed to a stop and he hesitantly took a step back, wiping his eyes with a thumb and forefinger.

He was about to speak but she shushed him with a look of quiet acceptance, taking his hand and walking him into the TARDIS. She led him to his bedroom and laid him down on the bed, tucking him under the covers with only a small amount of protest.

She took off her jacket and climbed in beside him, slinking herself so that he spooned around her, the pair enveloped by soft sheets and each other's company. She knew they'd have to talk later (though she hadn't yet decided if she was going to ask him about the children at risk of sending him back to a state of unendurable agony) but for now she was content to letting him breathe into her hair as his hands grabbed onto her waist so tightly she thought he'd leave a bruise.

For now, the only solace she could give him was companionship, but that was better than nothing.


	31. Attack

Disclaimer: All rights and characters go to the BBC, true life.

**This song is from 'Miz636' and I'm so glad that you all are being incredibly patient with my awful time schedule-you're all wonderful! Thank you thank you thank you for all the lovely reviews that make me smile, and please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Attack-30 Seconds to Mars<p>

_I would've kept you forever  
><em>_But we had to sever.  
><em>_It ended for both of us  
><em>_Faster than a...  
><em>_Kill off this thinking,  
><em>_It's starting to sink in.  
><em>_I'm losing control now  
><em>_But without you I can finally see._

* * *

><p>"This is stupid," he declared.<p>

River looked across the table at the Doctor, fingers toying with the rim of her wine glass. She looped the top of her cup with her right forefinger, swirling in circles as she anticipated the singing _whirr_ she knew so well.

He stared at her from his side of the tabletop, his chin perched in his hand as one elbow on the table steadied both arm and face. Unlike her, the Doctor was drinking from a shallow glass that held only bubbly water, a straw flopping lazily on one side of the cup. Their food plates were nearly empty, both having had their fair share of the night's dinner.

It was a quiet summer night in Paris, 1993. Not a major year, nothing too complicated occurring to mess around with the TARDIS' landing. It was just a hot August night in France, candlelight illuminating the café they had chosen as a meal-place.

"What is?" she asked, not breaking in her gaze as she watched his eyes gently caress her face.

There were some nights where he just stopped and simply admired her beauty, and this was definitely one of those nights.

With one hand waving across his chest and motioning from her to him, he replied. "Us."

"Oh I don't know, I think we're marvelous."

She watched as he tipped his glass up and squinted, trying to see if there was anymore water left to drink. Upon seeing there was none, he dropped the cup back onto the table, eliciting a loud crash and a few angry stares from neighboring tables.

She smiled at him, that lovely smile that meant she knew she should scold him but he was being too damn charming for her to do so.

"I don't mean _that_, River. Honestly, have faith."

She took another sip of her drink, watching as he smiled at her in tease.

"I meant us, our timelines. Why must we stick to our rules?"

She leaned back in her chair, one hand on her glass and the other in her hair, trying hard to think of an appropriate response to his question. In all honesty, she had no valid answer that she properly believed in. _But sometimes it isn't about belief but about what's right and wrong, and what's needed to keep the universe going_, she thought. Their lives were hectic, these chosen paths weaving the threads of the universe together, but they were theirs.

"To put it simply, Doctor," she paused, leaning forward to pour herself another half-glass of wine. "If we didn't, we might destroy the universe." She paused again to take a sip of her drink. "That, and now that we've started this whole back-to-front thing we can't just decide to end it. I do like it when we pop into each other's lives on random when we _are_ in synch, but those times are few and far in between." She put the cup down, scanning his reaction. "Just as they should be."

"Is that your belief?" he mused, folding his hands together as he rested his chin upon them.

She flashed him a depraved smile, nose scrunching in jest. "Less so than the truth."

He glanced at her hands which had made their way back to toying with her wine glass, then he returned to his previous state of leaning back into his chair with his arms folded across his chest.

"But _why_?" It was a genuine question, something that warranted a direct response and was not a whiny plea.

She sighed, unconsciously moving her finger around the cup's rim to make that singing note again. It was deeper in tone now that she'd added more liquid to the cup, and its decreased tonality sang a much darker mood.

"Because, Doctor, we are a contradiction. Our firsts and lasts are one and the same and we already defy the standard rules of the universe-we travel through time and space at our leisure. Is that really such a good idea, in general?" She hesitated, registering his unreadable expression. "I mean, we've created enough temporal paradoxes to have destroyed the universe twice over that we really shouldn't mess with it anymore. Don't you think?"

He reached a finger out and ran it along the side of her wine glass, settling his fingertip on the base of the cup where he drew lazy circles with the tip of his index finger.

"But rules are so _boring_," he replied.

She smiled halfheartedly at him, the smile not quite reaching her eyes. "So are long talks that go nowhere."

His finger stopped circling, his gaze moving up from his invisible drawings to River's candlelit face.

She looked beautiful tonight. Not that she usually didn't, but tonight River had let her hair go naturally wild and it curled around her face as it cascaded in a river of coils down to her shoulders. The yellow light from the candle placed squarely in the middle of their table glowed brilliantly against her skin, highlighting her cheekbones and (in his opinion) perfectly-shaped lips.

"I thought you didn't like to follow rules." the Doctor teased her cheerfully, his head tilted slightly to one side.

She brushed his fingers off her glass to allow her to take another sip, bringing the tip of the cup to her rouged lips and spoke before she gulped. "I don't mind them if they're my own."

"But _you_ said they were mine," he protested.

"Did I?"

"Oh," he blushed, suddenly embarrassed. "I suppose that's a spoiler. Oh well, nothing too universe-implosive there."

She sighed again, this time leaning closer to him and placing the wine glass gently down beside his hand resting on the table. From this new stance she was well aware he had a good view of her cleavage, and by his eyes diversion she knew that _he knew_ as well.

"You're awfully bad at this, giving me spoilers and trying to convince me to ignore your own rules."

His eyes widened, still not breaking from their view of her chest. "I can't help it when you look _this_ beautiful."

"Whatever happened to keeping the universe going?"

"It flew out the window about the same time as the first time I saw you naked."

River choked on a laugh, drawing her hand up to her mouth to contain her shock. He turned his gaze back to her face, smiling triumphantly.

"Doctor!" she scolded, though it came out more as a cry of disbelief than a reprimand. She didn't have it in her to rebuke him, especially when he'd transversely complimented her so nicely. That was the thing about the Doctor-so often was he evasive and indirect that the rare aggression was a lovely commodity.

"Which, if I'm honest, I wouldn't mind reviewing right now."

She leaned her elbow on the table and placed her chin in her hand, simpering back at him. "_I_ may be bad, but this is a bit public."

He blushed furiously, the redness spreading from his neck to his ears. "I...I meant in the TARDIS!" he sputtered.

"Let's be off then." She dropped the money needed to pay for their meal and stood up, reaching her hand out to lift him from his chair.

He stood up quickly, nearly knocking over the table, and took her hand in a failed attempt at graciousness. He offered her his arm, dropping her hand in favor of a chivalrous escort, turning them in the direction of the TARDIS.

"So what's gotten in to you?" she asked as they neared the wooden box.

"Oh I don't know," he replied. He pushed the doors open and led her in, shutting the door swiftly behind them. He then wrapped her up in an embrace, pulling their bodies flush together which resulted in a delightful giggle from River. His face lit up as he thought up a reply. "Paris!"


	32. Dog Days are Over

Disclaimer: No rights, no rights, no love.

**Next installment, woohoo! Thanks for everyone's patience and seriously sweet reviews-as a reward for your wonderful loyalty, I posted an M fic called "Proving She's a Woman," so go check that out if you were one of the ones interested.**

**If not, here's the next bit, and as always, please tell me what you think and give me feedback, please read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Dog Days are Over-Florence + the Machine<p>

_Happiness hit her like a train on a track,  
><em>_Coming towards her, stuck still no turning back.  
>She hid around corners and she hid under beds,<br>__She killed it with kisses and from it she fled.  
>With every bubble she sank with her drink<br>And washed it away down the kitchen sink.  
>The dog days are over, The dog days are done.<br>__The horses are coming So you better run._

* * *

><p>River looked up from her book, peering through the glass of the rain-streaked window beside her.<p>

She was nestled comfortably in a large, wine-colored armchair that coincidentally matched the shade of the liquid sloshing around in her cup. Her wine glass was held effortlessly between two fingers, her arm thrown carelessly over one side of the chair as her legs dangled freely over the other. In her lap was an old, thin book that shed little pieces of its frail cover onto her clothes every time she shifted.

The chair was situated in the farthest reaches of the university library, three floors up and through a lengthy maze of corridors, her small reading room mostly unknown by her fellow students. It was calm and peaceful, a small room with several chairs surrounded by bookcases that stretched to the full height of the ceiling. A battered Oriental rug lay in the center of the room, its edges frayed and coarse.

The lighting was dim, the only illumination coming from an aging floor-lamp set right behind River's choice of chair. The room was untouched and quiet, and River loved it more than anything.

She paused her reading to lick her finger for a page turn, only to chance a flash of blue in the corner of her eye. She pressed one finger to the window, sliding her forefinger down as it followed a raindrop's path, a heated trail left in its wake.

Squinting through the glass, River concentrated on the familiar outline of a grand blue box parked innocently on the other side of the green. Its pilot strode out, blue book in hand, tucking his quiff behind one ear. She watched him walk a few yards, stop, and push his jacket back with his hands on his hips, seemingly intent on scoping out the courtyard.

She sighed, laying her glass on the floor, and leaned her cheek against the side of her chair. It was well worn now, undoubtedly molded to the shape of her body, and its once rough fabric was presently soft, the smooth surface a sweet reminder of the countless hours she'd spent there reading.

She watched him with growing interest, content to lounge, unnoticed, in her small sanctuary.

He paced in front of his box, rubbing his hands together in an action that looked all-together too old for his youthful physique. Often she'd catch him making these gestures one would associate with someone past their prime, not the excited, young man he appeared to be, and, as usual, it made her break out into a pleasant smile.

He stopped suddenly, arms held out at sharp angles, and she gasped as he turned deftly on the spot and tilted his head up to her window. He wiggled his fingers in a cheeky wave and she shook her head in feigned dissatisfaction before waving back with a half-hearted hand.

He motioned for her come down and meet him, smiling earnestly up to where River sat, too comfortable to move.

She shook her head again, pointing at the raindrops spiraling down the window, and for what seemed like the first time the Doctor noticed the very wet grass beneath him and the rather obtrusive precipitation falling from the sky. He shrugged, as if to say: _'your loss'_, then proceeded to make his way towards the library's entrance.

She laughed to herself, pleased to have won this little battle. Their relationship was made up of these small battles for superiority and each win was equally as enjoyable as the last, often resulting in a sly smile from the winner.

Deciding to return to the book in her lap, she tore her gaze away from the courtyard to the text resting atop her. It was only a few moments until there was a knock at the door, and in want of looking blase, River stilled in her reading and spoke.

"Who is it?"

The doorknob turned and he strode in, closing the door quietly behind him.

"That's awfully rude of you, don't you think? Usually one waits until there's a response before barging through a closed door." River flashed him a smile that let him know she wasn't actually upset, resting her hand on top of the yellowed pages.

He shrugged, walking over to her chair. "I just can't resist you, I suppose."

She let out a short laugh, her chest heaving sharply along in a similar movement. "Always so flirtatious."

"You started it." His gentle accusation was met with another of her smiles and he watched as she shifted to the left, patting the armrest as an invitation for him to sit. He obliged, settling his weight on what looked like a weak perch, only to discover it was sturdier than he thought.

"What brings you here today, my love? And hello, sweetie."

He smiled. "Hello to you as well. What's that you're reading?" She snatched the book from within his grasp, dangling it over the back of the chair.

"My question first."

He sighed, running his fingers over his elbow-patches. "It's a Thursday afternoon. I thought I'd stop by for an adventure, figured you'd be up for something fun. What do you say?"

"It's a detailed history of pre-Columbus America, dating back to the twelfth century. I'm reading it for class."

"Oh?" He cocked an eyebrow at her, disbelief and curiosity apparent. "So that's why the cover's so well-worn you can hardly make it out?"

She tightened her grip on the book, intent on keeping it out of his sight. "And no, I'd rather not go on an adventure at the moment, I was quite happy reading, uneventfully, before you showed up."

"Now River," his tone rich in mock-chastisement. "We both know you'd never turn down a trip."

Her expression told him otherwise, but he stayed firm and continued. "That book is too thin to be a history, my dear. Out with it, let's see."

What followed was a string of strangled giggles omitted as a reaction to the Doctor's tickling, his fingers set on forcing the answer out of her. She swore internally at her older self for ever letting him figure out she was ticklish-he used this advantage at truly inopportune times.

After about half a minute of struggling, River relinquished a heaved consent and handed over the book, tears spilling from the corner of her eyes. With a smug smirk, the Doctor plucked the book from her hands and smoothed one hand over the cover, feeling the rough sensation of aged hardcover that only the most-loved books hold. He lifted his fingers slowly, drawing out his new moment of discovery.

River watched apprehensively from beneath him, a small fire igniting in her stomach as she looked up at his expression. He blinked once, twice, and widened his lips into a charming grin as he read the book's title. He glanced at River and pointed a finger matched with a pleased simper, then opened the book to the first few pages. His fingertips skimmed over yellowed pages covered with tags and scribbled markings, tracing the inked text as well as her little notes. He stopped at a certain page, straightened his shoulders, and read.

"This is one of my favorites," he said.

She stared at him, expecting to see a smirk or at least a bit of jest, and was thoroughly surprised to see him reading the page with a completely serious countenance. She paused, hesitating, then decided to play along. "Which one?"

"15," he replied. "I love 14, too, but the couplet that wraps up numero 15 is a dinger, I tell you."

"Oh?" She was genuinely interested now, curious to see which were the words that spoke the most clearly to the Doctor. "And that is?"

" 'And all in war with Time for love of you, as he takes from you, I engraft you new.' Good ol' Shakespeare, met him once. Old Shakey, and you call me a flirt!"

But River wasn't listening anymore. She stared at him with a varied gamut of emotions, watching as he flipped gleefully through the pages, no doubt re-reading some of his old favorites.

She watched his eyes glimmer with amusement as he read a line that probably was one of the naughtier ones, his cheeks flushed in a healthy appreciation of Shakespeare's anything but innocent sense of humor.

"Why did you hide this from me?"

She started. "What?" His question snapped River from her thoughts, a direct and almost hurt tone piercing the air.

"This book, it's just a collection of Shakespeare sonnets. Why did you hide this from me?"

"Well," she took a breath, steadying her heartbeat that was already much too fast for the situation. "It's...embarrassing, is all. I don't want you to think I spend my time cooped up in a room reading love sonnets in my free time, like some lovesick teenager."

"But don't you?"

She swatted his shoulder with a generous slap, leaning forward from her place on the chair. After a minute or so of silence, he spoke again.

"I do too, though."

"What?"

"Sit in a room all by myself, in a comfy chair, and read love poems. I do that too, sometimes."

She watched him smile and smacked him again, reaching for the book. "Oh, shut up." Once in her grasp, she tucked the book underneath the chair and folded her arms over her chest.

"What now? Adventures?"

He nodded then stopped, sinking further back into the chair. "We don't have to if you don't feel like it."

River was ready to erupt into a long-winded answer as to why it really was fine, she didn't have anything important to do in the next week, and how the TARDIS was actually a time machine so it didn't really matter, but stopped herself as she looked back at the Doctor's face. He was being honest, offering her the chance to decline. The possibility that he would just leave as soon as he'd came saddened her, but she dismissed any signs of it on her face.

"You can stay, if you like," she responded. His face lit up in enthusiasm, delighted at the prospect of something new for him to do.

She shifted again, curving her body to the side so that the Doctor had room to join her in the curvature of the chair. They pressed their bodies tightly together and had they not been lovers, the close quarters now shared would have been highly uncomfortable. As it was, the Doctor breathed out a sigh of satisfaction as River nuzzled warmly into his chest.

She closed her eyes, breathing in that distinct smell of Time and metal, and was hit by a sudden realization.

For the first time in her life, she was happy.

She was in university, spending her days learning and learning and resting happily on the side or adventuring in the mists of the unknown, independent and carefree as a young adult. She had friends she respected and a man she loved, a man who loved the same sonnets as her and was the largest contradiction of them all. When he smiled at her her insides would melt, and he made her feel unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. She had food to eat, a roof over her head, and she was in love.

All in all, River Song was blissfully, completely and totally happy.


	33. Comatose

Disclaimer: Possession of Doctor Who rights is solely due to the BBC, though I happily claim the writing.

**This song is from 'Miz636' and the idea of the appearance of Rory and Amy is credited to a review from 'bleach-otaku.'**

**Because I waited so long to write and post this, I've made it extra long (in all honesty, there was just no way to end it prematurely, so here's my half-apology half-excuse). I'm rather proud of how this one came out and I LOVE hearing what you guys think, so please continue with your ideas and suggestions.**

**Thank you for all the support and I hope everyone continues to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Comatose-Skillet<p>

_I hate feeling like this, I'm so tired of trying to fight this.  
><em>_I'm asleep and all I dream of is waking to you.  
><em>_Tell me that you will listen, your touch is what I'm missing  
><em>_And the more I hide, I realize I'm slowly losing you._

* * *

><p>The Doctor made sure the TARDIS materialized exactly 0.34 miles away from the PondWilliams household, the want for surprise being his main rationale. He strode out of the TARDIS full of purpose, slicking back his hair and puffing his bow-tie, laughably aware of the habit he had developed. Push open doors, take a step, smooth away hair, readjust bow-tie: all set, it's time to save humanity!

Despite his disinclination towards routines of any kind, today was no exception and he pursued the awfully domestic practice as he made his way to his destination. Nearing the large yellow house that always seemed too big, the Doctor slowed his gait in an attempt at stealth.

Creeping along the grassy perimeter, he hid himself behind the moss-covered shed in the front courtyard. He splayed his arms across the wooden wall, amusing himself by turning to a ninja-like stance.

He collapsed to a crouch and leaned back against the shed, breathing in the warm night air. It was an oddly balmy night, one of those evenings in late summer where the wind would decide on a light breeze to match the heated air. It was comfortably quiet besides the low rustling of leaves, and the Doctor smiled softly as the pleasant air filled his lungs then left his nose, leaving a happy tingling sensation in the tips of his toes and fingers.

The sound of a window opening reminded him of his mission, and the Doctor persisted in his crouch as he crept through the grass and the opening in the fence. He held his breath-not that anyone inside could hear his breathing, but still-and stood up on shaky legs as he moved to the side of the house. From there, he knew which rooms were represented by which window, and he picked up a small rock before tossing it in his hand and throwing it with perfect aim through the open one.

It wasn't long until he heard a loud scuffle and the noise of drawers being forced open and closed in a quick shuffle, followed by the sound of objects against wood. Within a minute of waiting, a curly-haired head popped out of the white-rimmed casement, shifting back and forth in a quest for the owner of the rock.

The Doctor whistled sharply and, with a grand wave, smiled gayly up at the woman in the window.

"Doctor!" she said, louder than a whisper but not loud enough to be heard by the other members of the household.

"Hello, River." he replied, nodding in greeting. "And how are you this fine evening?"

She shook her head, though in amusement or irritation he was unsure. "What are you doing here? It's the middle of the night!"

"Well then, what are _you_ doing up?"

She placed her hands on the windowsill, tilting her head to the side in an attempt to brush coiled hair away from her line of sight. "An answer for an answer."

He sighed, rolling on the balls of his feet before taking a step closer to the house. "I thought I'd pop by for a visit."

"At midnight?"

"Now now, one question per turn. If it's so late, why are you still awake?"

She rolled her eyes and then leaned her face in her hand as she perched an elbow on her bedroom ledge. "I was just about to go to bed," she answered. She stood up straight to fix her blouse, smoothing a hand over the rumpled fabric. "So what's the _real_ reason you're here?"

He looked at the ground and chuckled to himself, folding his arms across his chest. "What's the _real_ reason you're up so late?"

She sighed. "I'm out of university, Doctor, I don't have a bedtime."

"And _I_ have a time machine and all of forever, so why not stop by for a hello?"

She sighed again, running her fingers over the ledge as she traced the wooden border. "One moment, then." She briskly turned to the inside of her room and the Doctor heard the sound of feet and hands against wood as she moved around, presumably to gussy up and properly clothe herself.

While she was distracted, the Doctor walked over to the side of the house and pulled on a particularly large vine attached to the side. It withstood the tug, so he laced his fingers in the twining tendrils and heaved himself up by his arms.

He continued to pull, tug, then climb and was almost at her window by the time River poked her head out again. She turned her gaze to him and gasped, clutching her chest in surprise.

"Honestly, Doctor, a warning would have been nice."

He smiled mid-tug and pulled himself up to the vine nearest the window, clumsily reached for the wood as a new handle, and winced at the amount of stress on his muscles. Folding his arms over the window, he replied. "Actually, a bit of help would be even nicer."

She rolled her eyes once more before bending down and helping him slump into her room, the Doctor collapsing on the floor in panting breaths.

"Thank you, that's better."

River pushed her hair back as she tied the curls into a fluffy ponytail, now out of her face and no longer obstructing her gaze. "No trouble at all, sweetie. Though there might be if my dad decides to come in for a quick goodnight."

"Hence the wall-climb. And don't you have a lock?"

She cocked an eyebrow at his still-flustered state. "All that to avoid a meeting with my father? You _are_ friends, you know."

"Yes yes we're friends, but _he's_ a centurion and _you're_ his daughter and _I_ don't want to have to deal with a lengthy warning that involves the mention of swords or the need to keep the bedroom door open."

She laughed, genuinely amused by his reasoning. "Fair point. I like the door closed better, too."

He sighed before sitting up and leaning against the window, hands in his now criss-cross applesauced lap. "You're impossible."

"You said it first."

He blushed, knowing she was indeed right, then scratched the arm of his tweed jacket in discomfort.

"So you're here for a visit, yeah?"

"Well yes, a short visit. I wanted to see you."

She smiled adoringly despite the earlier lecherous facade. "What for?"

"A man can't stop by the house of the woman he loves with no agenda?"

She let loose a disbelieving snort, then moved so she sat directly across from him. "Any ordinary man _can_, yes. But you're anything but ordinary."

Sighing in defeat, he brushed the lapels of his jacket down in an effort to look offended. "I can be ordinary," he responded, feigning resentment.

"You?" she laughed, gazing fondly at his floppy brown hair. "You can't, and that's why I love you." She leaned forwards on her knees, moving to press a kiss to his nose. She withdrew slowly and steadily, making a point to flicker her glance between his eyes and his mouth.

"That's actually why I'm here," he breathed out.

She looked at him with question and parted her lips slightly as if to speak, then closed them and urged him with smile to continue.

"You see, River." He coughed purposefully and withheld the desire to scratch his cheek, then shifted so he sat up straighter, clenching his hands to keep him from adjusting his bow-tie. "I've been thinking about...well, you. A lot, actually. Much more than is strictly necessary. I've been thinking about you and about me, and about those two things...together."

"Go on," she said.

"It's really very distracting, as I should be thinking more about danger and the universe and not least of all _running_, and my thoughts about you are becoming fairly more prominent in appearance."

"Hold on a second, Doctor." She leaned in, placing her fingers on the inside of his thighs which resulted in a _'River' _spoken in a tone full of both shock and reproof, followed by her spreading of his legs so that she could lay her back against his chest and look dutifully up at his face. _If he's going to rant,_ she thought, _might as well be comfortable_. "Continue."

He took a sharp intake of breath she almost didn't notice, then let it out unhurriedly before continuing. "As I was saying, I've been thinking about you and us a lot, and I was just wondering..."

He trailed off bashfully so she lightly dug the back of her head further into his chest, carefully urging him to continue.

"Well, I was wondering if you'd like to come with me, for a while. Maybe live aboard the TARDIS? What with you being finished with university and everything. What do you think?"

She felt herself smile broader than she would have openly admitted and was about to reply when her bedroom door flung open to her mother, dressed in a flimsy white nightgown, standing in the doorway.

"River, who're you talking..."

Suddenly, the voice of a particular red-head permeated the air. "Oh-I, I'm sorry, I didn't realize..." Amy spluttered, turning a light shade of red. "Wait a second, what are _you_ doing here?" She pointed a finger at the couple, though the question was meant only for the bow-tie wearer.

"Oh hello Amy," he drawled out, elongating the vowels of 'hello'. "I thought I'd...stop in for a visit."

She crossed her arms in something resembling protectiveness and suspicion. "To my daughter, in her bedroom, in the middle of the night?"

River had the decency to blush and sit up, no longer pressed against the warmness of his body. She twisted towards him and gave him a look that said _'you deal with this'_ before pushing herself up to stand and mirror the stance of her mother, though hers seemed to resemble boredom and impatience.

"_Well_," he began. "I suppose so, yes."

River huffed at him with an eye-roll so massive it put no question in his mind to who her mother was, then proceeded to lean back against her bookcase.

There was no use for the Doctor to lie to Amy, for she was both clever and perceptive, and no amount of rambling was going to avoid or explain the topic he was presented with.

"I'm not sure I'm okay with this," Amy replied. She took a step into the room, glared disapprovingly at her daughter, then moved so she stood in-between the Doctor and River. "And you weren't even going to come in and say hello to me?"

"Of course I was," he responded. "I was just saying hi to River first."

"Is that what you were doing?" Amy snorted.

"_Please_, mother," River scoffed.

The Doctor flushed red again and was about to make a move towards River until Amy made the point of shifting to stay between them. He gulped, then spoke. "I wanted to ask River a question."

"Amy, what's going on?"

Without warning, Rory poked his head out from the side of the doorway, and upon seeing the crowd, dropped his mouth open and entered the room.

"When did _you_ get here?" Rory came to stand beside Amy, looking from his wife to his daughter to the Doctor.

"A few minutes ago, really, I-"

River snorted impatiently and moved to the Doctor's side, placing her hands on her hips and leaning her weight on one foot. "Neither of you knocked, you know."

Amy let loose a short laugh. "Well _you_ didn't ask if you could have anybody over, never you mind what species."

"I didn't know I had to ask for permission, seeing as though I'm already an adult. Besides, I didn't know he was coming, I-"

Rory cut her off. "If you live under our roof, you abide by our rules."

An awkward silence descended after the centurion's threatening admonishment, and the Doctor stood up hesitantly and brushed invisible dust off his jacket. "Right," the Doctor began. "I see there's some kind of parent-child conversation I've no desire to intrude on, so I should get going."

River ignored him. "Well lucky for you, dad, I don't know how much longer I'm going to live here."

"What do you mean, honey?" Amy stared worriedly at her daughter, unfolding her arms. "Did you find a place already?"

"Well," River started. She took one of the Doctor's hands in hers, smiled at him, then looked back at her parents. "The Doctor asked me to travel with him. And live on the TARDIS, for a bit."

Her parents stared at the couple with gaping mouths, speechless. The Doctor held out his hand to make way for explanation but was shut down by the cloudy look in Rory's eyes.

"He did?" Rory's question was directed firmly at the Doctor, one hand clenching into a fist.

"Yes," the Doctor said carefully. "I did. Now that she's done with school, it seems like the perfect opportunity for this sort of thing."

"This sort of thing?" This question came from River and the Doctor turned to look at her arched eyebrows, held high in indignation.

"River, darling, let's leave the boys to talk alone for a moment. Come, I'll make tea."

Though she released a disparaging sigh, she let the ginger wrap her arms around her shoulders and lead her from her room to the kitchen. Once the two women were out of earshot, Rory took a step towards the Doctor and tightened the fold of his arms.

"First things first, hello Rory." The Doctor offered a weak smile.

"Hi," he answered curtly. "You asked her to travel with you?"

The Doctor gulped, though determined not to waiver in his resolve. "That I did, yes."

"Are you _mad_?" Rory spat the last word out with disbelief, uncrossing his arms to raise them and jab a poking finger into the Doctor's ribs. "Have you any idea how dangerous it is traveling with you?"

The Doctor brushed more invisible dirt off his tweed before replying. "As a matter of fact, I do, and River's fully capable of keeping herself safe, not to mention me as well. Plus, you know it's not all bad. The wonderful things you and I have seen, eh, Rory? Venice, remember Venice? Sexy fish vampires!" He hesitated, hoping for a response. "You and I, we've done some amazing things. Fought side-by-side to get Amy back, won a battle without a drop of blood shed. Eh, Rory?"

"Not like we had to save her from someone after _you_, or anything," Rory said.

"Fair point," the Doctor mumbled. "But River's a woman now, she can take care of herself."

Rory took a step towards the Doctor. "What are your intentions in regard to my daughter?"

The Doctor gulped, uneasy. "W-what?"

"You heard me, old man. What are your intentions?"

"Well, I-I..." he trailed off. He paused, taking a moment to straighten his bow-tie and then stare meaningfully at Rory. With his eyes full of honest reason, the Doctor continued. "I love her, Rory. I love River. You know that."

The ex-Roman stayed quiet, persuading the Doctor to speak more.

"It's awful, actually, how much I love her. It's not fair to her, I know, but at the end of the day, I'm a selfish old man who's in love with the most brilliant woman in the universe, and even though I know you've got a sharpened sword and are technically older than even me, I wouldn't change that for _anything_."

Rory said nothing, stroking his hands across his stubbly chin. He ran a hand through his hair, then pressed his hands to his eyes, running them down his face. After a few moments, he spoke.

"Promise me, Doctor. Promise me you'll love her forever. I can't and won't ask you to keep her safe, because I know you can't do that. But I need you to promise me you'll love her, because I know that if you do, you'll never give up."

The Doctor was struck speechless at the careful consideration of the other man's heartfelt response, and he gingerly placed a hand on Rory's shoulder.

"I promise," he replied, smiling and nodding softly. "I promise I'll love her. Forever."

"Okay," Rory shrugged. "River, Amy, come back up!"

The Doctor patted the centurion's back with a swift and meaningful tap of gratitude, then shifted to stand beside him as they faced the oncoming women. The sound of laughter and footsteps grew louder as they approached, the ladies giggling at some mother-daughter joke.

"Mum, please. I don't want to know anything else about you and Dad, walking in on you two snogging was quite enough for me," River quipped, jest and merriment sparkling in her blue eyes.

"River," Rory motioned. "Amy."

They both arched a brow in return and folded their arms in challenge. The men gulped.

"We've had a good talk," the Doctor began, nodding to Rory. "We've decided-"

"Go on, then," Rory interrupted. He smiled sadly at River, the smile of a father who knows he's about to let his daughter loose forever. The smile of a father who is remembering the soft crinkle of a baby's nose and that baby's tight grip on two of his fingers, now acknowledging that baby has grown up to be a determined, beautiful woman. "Just don't forget to visit now and then."

River broke out into an overjoyed smile, squeezing Amy's hand before rushing over to hug her father. "We will, I promise," she whispered into his shoulder.

Rory held her firmly, aware this hug was going to be the last one for a while.

Amy smiled, walking over to hug the Doctor fondly, an embrace both familiar and completely new in this recent chapter of their lives. They held each other in remembrance of all the things they'd seen and words they'd spoken, all the people and sights and places.

They broke so that River and Amy could hug as well, and the Doctor turned to hug Rory in a charming but oddly gentle fashion. Rory patted him on the back in a manly acceptance, then let him go to embrace his wife.

The Doctor turned lastly to River, who carried a smile as wide as her namesake on her face. He found her happiness so incredibly beautiful he was struck motionless, unable to do anything but wrap his arms around her in a clasped clutching of her waist and back, the pair hugging each other with the ferocity of teenagers and the hearts of an old married couple. It was simultaneously tender and fierce, the lovers completely unaware, if only for a moment, that there was anyone else in the room.

He breathed in the smell of her hair and she nuzzled the crook between his neck and collarbone, sweet and protective and now, they realized, entirely too intimate a gesture to be taking place in front of her parents.

They broke, slightly dizzy, and smiled at Amy and Rory.

"We'll be off, then," the Doctor declared.

"This time," Amy teased. "You can use the door."


	34. I Can Hear Music

Disclaimer: All rights to the Beeb, etc.

**Well, people seemed to like Amy and Rory so I brought them back for another one. Here's another fun one, song suggested by 'Foggale2975green.' Thanks as usual and please read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>I Can Hear Music-Beach Boys<p>

_This is the way  
><em>_I always dreamed it would be:  
><em>_The way that it is, oh oh,  
><em>_When you are holding me.  
><em>_I never had a love of my own  
><em>_Maybe that's why when we're all alone_

_I can hear music.  
><em>_I can hear music,  
><em>_The sound of the city, baby, seems to disappear:  
><em>_I can hear music._

* * *

><p>River woke up to the glaring brightness of the morning sun, shifting lights dancing across the wall as the curtains of her bedroom window billowed in response to a quiet breeze. She sat up and shivered, the nakedness of her body reminding her of air temperature, and she pulled the sheet up to cover herself.<p>

She heard a groan come from beside her as the sheet slipped underneath the Doctor's slumbering form, still deep in the realm of dreams.

She smiled gently as the sheet dropped perilously low on his back, the shoulder blades in his back all muscled and relaxed and picking up small glimmers of sunlight. She hovered a few fingers over one defined muscle, not wanting to wake him, then slowly touched his warm back and traced the shape of the edges underneath her fingertips. She leaned down to press a peck to his available cheek, the other pressed firmly into a pillow.

Then, ever so slowly, she laid the sheet back down on the bed and stepped off the mattress. Careful not to make any noise, River leaned down and picked up his tweed blazer, buttoning it up halfway.

She closed the door to her bedroom with one last loving look at his sleeping physique, then walked down the stairs to prepare some breakfast.

Running one hand down the white railing, River smiled to herself as she remembered the many times she'd slid down this very staircase, purely in need of thrill, when she'd first been recaptured by the Doctor and her parents. She had so long to go, then, and so far still, but she had properly changed her name and assimilated into normal culture, even picking up university like most around her age. It made her feel almost normal. Almost.

Once in the kitchen, she turned in a circle to admire the blue, interesting room. River often wished she had grown up here, for many reasons, but mostly because she would have loved playing in this kitchen and finding all the secret corners that would have housed little trinkets and toys only little children seem to care about. It would have been domestic in the best way.

She gingerly placed a hand on top of the table as she glanced at the cozy, filled kitchen with an old, wooden analog clock still hanging on the wall. River was fairly sure it was older than her, since the right hand ticked half a second off and was oddly distracting.

This was one of those small, ephemeral moments where River missed the childhood she never had. It was a strange feeling to have, really.

She made her way over to a cabinet and pulled out a bowl, then a spoon, then a large paper box full of some kind of cereal. She was fairly sure it was her dad's and had a small inkling he would get mock-angry at her for eating it, but she poured some into her dish anyway and placed the bowl on the table.

Turning around, she heard the soft creaks of the stairs under bare-feet and smiled, taking a step towards the doorway. The Doctor appeared, trousers on and braces still clipped in the back and dragging clumsily behind him, running his hands through his hair in a trial to tame his hair.

He walked up to her and smiled, leaning his hip against the side of the table in his _'I just woke up'_ pose.

"Morning, sweetie," she said.

He yawned, running one hands down the side of his face. "Good morning."

"Would you like some breakfast? There's cereal." She pointed to and held up the bowl of food, then put it back on the table.

"Maybe later," he mumbled. She laughed at his lack of coherency-he was obviously still half-asleep.

"Whatever suits you, darling."

He blinked slowly, noticing for the first time her choice of attire. "Tweed suits _you_, River."

She laughed again and closed the gap between them, lifting her hands to wrap around his neck and play with the hair at the nape of his neck. "This has been awfully fun, my love. These past two days. I've thoroughly enjoyed myself."

Grinning down at her a bit too smugly, he replied. "Definitely one of my best rescue missions, so far, yes."

She smirked at him, moving one hand to run down his chest. "We got lucky, didn't we? My parents gone for the long weekend, my note meeting up with the right you, the summer after my first year at university." She leaned close and hovered her lips precariously close to his ear. "It's all a bit teenager-y, isn't it?"

"Me? A teenager?" he scoffed. "I'm a romantic, not an adolescent."

She chuckled as his hands found their way to her back, holding her close. "Oh I know," she replied.

He twisted her so the back of her legs hit the table and proceeded to bend her over the wooden surface, smiling triumphantly as she giggled in delight.

"Here, in the kitchen?"

He smiled again, this time his mouth against her neck, and responded. "Well, we've covered every other surface in the house. This is the only one left, far as I'm concerned."

River smirked inwardly, remembering her one suggestion of Amy and Rory's bed, which had resulted in a disgusted and appalled exclamation from the Doctor. She decided then to let it go, no matter how much fun she had in corrupting him. And it was true, their tangled limbs having already paved their way over all the other planes in the house.

He left a trail of kisses down her neck and chest to the v of his jacket, the fabric pulled together by one haphazard button. His fingers closed around it and was about to unhook it when there was the rustling of keys in a door and the sound of voices. They both snapped their attention to the backdoor of the kitchen, panic gripping them motionless.

Before River and the Doctor had any idea what was happening, the door swung open and Amy and Rory strode in, blissfully unaware of what was awaiting them. Upon seeing the Doctor bent over River on the kitchen table, and both their states of relative undress, Amy's hand flew up to her eyes to shield her sight.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" Rory asked, dropping his backpack on the floor.

The Doctor stood up quickly, flustered, and lifted his hand to straighten the bow-tie he was not actually wearing. "Hello, Ponds."

Rory stared at him in disbelief. "Doctor, you have ten seconds to leave this kitchen and get dressed."

Not having to be told twice, the Doctor rushed out of the room and up to River's, pulling on the rest of his clothing.

River sat up and gazed nonchalantly at her parents, folding her arms across her chest. "Don't blame me, _you_ weren't supposed to get home until tomorrow night. And mum, he's gone, you can move your hands now."

Amy reluctantly dropped her hands from her face, a blank expression plastered there. Her mouth dropping open, she replied. "What are you _wearing_?"

River smirked and jumped off the table, walking over to the doorway near the corridor. "I'll just go change then, shall I?" She turned and walked out of the room, making her way back up the stairs.

"Don't think this is over!" Rory called from the kitchen. "For either of you!"

After about fifteen minutes of waiting, Amy knocked on River's door, a bit afraid of what she might find. "River? Doctor?"

After hearing a noncommittal throat-clear, Amy pushed gently on the door and peeked inside River's bedroom. The couple was sitting cross-legged on the bed, seemingly deep in conversation. Amy snuck around the door and into the room, aware of how uncomfortable the whole situation was.

"I think Rory wants to talk to you," she said.

River stood up slowly, looking back at the Doctor with a wink, and stretched her hand out for him to take. Which he did, and soon the three were joining Rory in the living room.

"River," Rory nodded. "Doctor."

The Doctor gulped. "Right then, Rory, I can explain-"

"This is going to be incredibly awkward no matter what happens, so there's no use in trying to talk or lie your way out of this one, Doctor. The fact of the matter is that you're much too old to be treating my daughter in that way." Rory sat up straighter, trying to keep his cool.

"Oh, please." The exasperation came from River, who was sitting on the couch beside her mother. "You're almost two millennia older than mum."

Amy shook her head. "That's different."

"How?"

River glared accusingly at her parents, determined to win this fight.

"I was alive for those two thousand years, too, even if I was half-asleep in a box. Which, by the way, was all your boyfriend's fault." Amy stared her daughter down, reminding her of the rest of that story. River hadn't lived it yet but was well aware of how her father had come to be an ex-Roman soldier.

"I'm not her boyfriend," the Doctor muttered under his breath.

River leaned to the side and smacked the Doctor on the arm, careful to hit him in the place she _knew_ he had bruise. She was the one who had put it there in the first place.

Rory cleared his throat. "Back to the point. Doctor, I will not have you treating my daughter that way, not least of all in my house. And-"

"Dad," River interrupted. "Mum. I'm sorry you guys had to see that, really, but the reality is that I'm a woman, a woman who has the right to be with whomever she pleases, despite species or age."

Rory leaned back into the couch, deep in thought. Amy glanced at her husband, then back at River, then at the Doctor who was twiddling his thumbs in silence. She opened her mouth to speak, leaning forward. "Honestly, I don't care."

Rory looked at his wife in shock, his mouth dropping open. "What? How?"

Amy smirked at him. "Oh, please. It's not like this wasn't going to happen and you know it, besides, as far as boyfriends go, he's bound to keep her safe."

"I don't need protecting," River replied, voice as cool as ice.

Amy turned to her daughter. "Lucky for you, that's something that comes free with _him_."

The Doctor blushed, folding his hands together. After a moment of silence, he spoke up for the first time since descending the stairs. "So that's settled? We apologize, that was inconsiderate of us, and now everything is fine and we can pretend this never happened?"

Rory pointed one finger at the umbrella stand, in which his sword lay. "If that ever happens again."

The Doctor gulped, nodding. "Right, okay. I'll be off! Amy, Rory," he stood, then turned to look at them. "It was...good to see you. River." He twisted to face her, his tone much softer and his eyes more dreamy. "I'll see you soon, I hope."

She smiled at him, watching as he made his way to the front hall where he had parked the TARDIS. Without warning, she flung herself from the couch and over to the doors, stopping him from entering the TARDIS with her hands on his shoulder as she gripped him and turned him around. There was a look on his face that pleased her immensely, and she molded her mouth with his in no time at all. He eagerly responded, then, remembering the parents, broke away. He tapped her nose, stepped into the TARDIS, and left.

River sauntered back to where her parents were sitting, coming to stand in front of their shocked faces.

"You said you two were coming home tomorrow night. That's all I'm saying."


	35. Young

Dislcaimer: Still nothing, I own the writing...tedious, tedious, tedious.

**Okay loves, so this song was suggested by 'Miz636' and I have to say-thank you thank you thank you for all the overwhelming glee over Amy and Rory. I was unsure how they'd come out, seeing as though it was my first time (this chapter and the last) writing them. Alas, _that_ experiment came out nicely.**

**This is a bit of a mood-changer, hope no one gets _too_ angry with me with the sudden bout of darkness. I had an idea, had to get it out, so here you go! Also, I'm super sorry, but I'm leaving for three weeks tomorrow...with no internet and such, so...sorry? And the sections in italics are past conversations, though earlier that day but not the present: you'll see.**

**Anyway, thank you as always and here's the next chapter! Please read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Young-Hollywood Undead<p>

_I see the children in the rain  
><em>_Like the parade before the pain.  
><em>_I see the love, I see the hate,  
><em>_I see this world that we can make.  
><em>_I see the life, I see the sky,  
><em>_Give it all to see you fly._

_Yes, we wave this flag of hatred  
><em>_But you're the ones who made it.  
><em>_What's the beauty of all our lives  
><em>_Passing right before my eyes?  
><em>_I hear the hate in all your words,  
><em>_All words to make us hurt,  
><em>_We get so sick, we're so sick:  
><em>_We never wanted all this._

* * *

><p>The world was falling apart around them, the pieces that hold reality together splintering into a million million ethereal shards, spreading out across the stars.<p>

Or, at least, that's what it felt like.

The Doctor didn't fight back tears as he gazed at River. This was _his_ River, the one who stayed up nights with him simply talking, the one who cried when a child would, the one who wore jeans just that much tighter for no reason other than to tease him. This was the River who loved him.

But maybe he had been mistaken, and, in the end, maybe it was he who had loved her. With all of Time and Space floating around in his head, it's no wonder he could have mixed them up. They were alike enough as it was.

Though in all honesty, the Doctor couldn't bring himself to believe that. He believed in so few things when it came down to it-he asked so much of everyone, lied so often, encouraged people to be the best they could; but never once did he do the same for himself. Selfish, arrogant, clever, mad: all words that could be used to describe him and not have an ounce of fallacy. There was one that he often forgot, though accurate, which was 'humble'.

He wasn't always so-sometimes he'd just start a speech about how much he'd done and before he knew what he was saying he was declaring how powerful and incredible he was, a force not to be reckoned with. But when he _was _humble, well, that's when he would fall apart.

Because the Doctor knew, among other things, the truth. For if one is going to be a good liar; nay, the _best_; one must have a clear grasp on the truth. And the Doctor was, after all, the best liar. It was rule one. But he knew, the Doctor did. The Doctor knew the truth, and the lies, about himself.

In short, just as he had told little Amelia, he was a daft old man who stole a magic box and ran away. That night seemed so far away now, there being time and stuff that had passed since then.

Stuff does that.

Even as he looked at River, starry tears in his eyes and his hearts held out, an offering, in the palm of his hand, stuff seemed to have passed. Stuff that was so unforgettable, so important, so _un_important. It was comical, really, though he didn't have to try hard to stifle a laugh. Laughing just wasn't as easy when on the verge of collapsing.

She looked back at him with cloudy eyes and a heavy heart, a misery burning within her chest. She had no hope, not today. Today was not a day for hope.

_"What are you doing here?" she asked. "You're crossing your own timeline. The cheating was okay when we were closer to the middle, but you're so young to me now when I see you, you really shouldn't risk it."_

_"I'd risk the universe to spend one last day with you, River."_

_"I know," she said. "That's why you need to leave."_

He couldn't breathe when she looked at him like that. The convulsion of his lungs reminded him why he didn't let himself get involved romantically-too messy. He was a silly old man who never learned his lessons, always making the same mistakes.

_"Please, River. I don't want to-I love you."_

_She gaped at him. "What did you say to me?"_

_"I love you."_

_"If you loved me, you would leave."_

How could she have asked him that? How could he have left?

_He stared at her. "You don't mean that."_

_"Can't you see, Doctor?" She was in tears now, too. This was a rare sight, waterfalls cascading down the smooth planes of her cheeks. "I'm dying every moment of my life, every nanosecond. I'm dying because I don't see you and then I'm dying because when I do, you look right through me. And now I'm dying because you can't understand what it's like to love the best man in the universe. It hurts, Doctor."_

_They were silent then, silence a better conversation than anything he could muster. But like all other things, the silence passed. "It hurts me, too, you know. Because I created this and everything is my fault, and this paradoxical life we lead is so unfair I don't know why I keep saving the universe anymore. I thought I'd never get done saving you."_

She collapsed in a heap on the ground, rocking herself in the embrace of her arms. He bent down to her level though knew enough not to touch her.

_"I'll tell you something, though," he whispered. She gave him an inquisitive look, stopping her tears for a moment. "Close your eyes."_

_He stared at her until she did, then continued. "Imagine a life where I met you correctly, in the right order, and where we had a small apartment in the middle of the city. Three rooms and a bathroom, slightly tight for the two of us and even tighter with all of our books. There would be paper everywhere, essays you're writing and the ones I'm reading, book upon book of knowledge and creativity. It'd be _'it's your turn to take out the trash' _and_ 'you never remember to put the toilet seat down'_;_ _and then there's a little blue plus sign, a few tears, a hug, and before we know it we've moved into a bigger house-room enough for the two of us and a third. A baby, made of the two of us, made out of love and hope and passion and destined to be great. Imagine that life and more."_

_Her eyelids pressed shut, one single tear flooding the side of her face, he proceeded._

_"If I had the choice between that life and this one, I would choose this one, every time. Because even though it is mad and impossible and completely nonsensical, it is ours and ours alone. I could never change that. I wouldn't."_

_She opened her eyes. "Not even if I asked you to?"_

_"No," he responded firmly. "Not even if you asked me to."_

She was crying and it was all his fault, it was always his fault. He had crossed his own timeline because he missed her and was selfish, no matter the consequences for the rest of reality. Which was why she was crying, he supposed. He and her, they were so much alike, after all. He wouldn't put it past her to cry for the universe, which rested more often than not in the palm of his hands. Which he had offered to her, moments ago, and she had refused.

She wouldn't touch him, not today. Not when he had basically admitted to destroying the universe for one last chance to see her. Because River loved two things, really-him and the universe. And here he was, bringing grief, and putting the only other thing she loved at risk, all for her sake.

It was too much to bear, sometimes.

For when it comes down to it, she's just one person. But then again, so is he. And when she came to her senses and remembered that he, too, was merely a flawed existence, she stopped her crying and looked at him.

"Promise me you won't," she said. "Don't change any part of our lives together. Not even the sad ones. Not even the ones like these."

He hesitated, reluctant. "Okay," he said shakily. "I promise."

And then she leapt into his arms and hugged him as close as she could in her quest to forget that she was the most screwed up being in the universe, and he was too.


	36. After the Storm

Disclaimer: All rights to the BBC.

**I've returned! After three weeks away, you can expect somewhat regular updates. For those of you who have waited so long so patiently, thank you SO SO SO SO much. This song was suggested by 'Eryndil' and I'm sorry it has taken this long to upload. Anyway, here's a short-ish chapter to get me back into the groove.**

**Thanks as always for reading and PLEASE review to get me back into the writing spirits!**

* * *

><p>After the Storm-Mumford &amp; Sons<p>

_And after the storm,  
><em>_I run and run as the rains come  
><em>_And I look up, I look up,  
><em>_On my knees and out of luck,  
><em>_I look up._

_Night has always pushed up day,  
><em>_You must know life to see decay,  
><em>_But I won't rot, I won't rot.  
><em>_Not this mind and not this heart,  
><em>_I won't rot._

_And I took you by the hand  
><em>_And we stood tall,  
><em>_And remembered our own land,  
><em>_What we lived for._

* * *

><p>River Song crouched on the ground, hands sifting through rubble and broken concrete, her deft fingers in pursuit of the small, strangled noises coming from below. There were voices down there; she could <em>hear<em> them; and they called out for a kind-hearted savior, an ordinary hero-perhaps a passer-by who had received few to none lacerations, scouring the wreckage in an attempt to give life another chance.

Those trapped did not see such a miracle, but merely a woman made to kill. A fairly bad creation, too, seeing as that specific woman was now trying to save lives. Had they known the intense irony of the situation, the amusement might have seeped through to hope. Instead, the knowledge lay wasted and alone.

River listened to the voices fade softer in a fluid, gradual decline as she worked hard at the debris. With her heart and hands set stern on their task, there was nothing that could distract her cause.

Suddenly, an honest hand lighted on the ghost of a woman, fingertips resting on shoulder-blade. River took a sharp intake of breath at the touch and turned quickly on the spot to beg and plead for the lives of those squirming beneath the rocks. The Doctor simply nodded in sad remorse, pressing his palm further into her back. Her shoulders leaned in to his touch but she continued to dig, her efforts now frail and mostly useless.

Collapsing in on herself to form a tight ball, River swayed her body back-and-forth to calm her pacing heart. No amount of desperate motion could appease it and River eventually broke into a flood of dry tears: her chest heaving and lip trembling, though cheeks as wet as a desert drought.

It was an awful sight to behold, her choking gasps, and the Doctor knelt down beside her as he positioned his mouth to surround her ear.

"There's nothing you can do, River. You have to let them go."

Lips quivering, she lifted her eyes to meet his gaze. "How?"

Stunned into silence, he paused for a moment. If she had asked _'why'_ and for an explanation, well, he easily could have provided that. But to ask _him_ how to live with guilt and heartache and regret; it was nearly impossible for him to feel as though he _weren't_ enabling her to feel and validate those emotions. It was all much too complicated and complex, and though the Doctor often liked the intricacies of life, the random nature of emotions was one vista lost on him.

"You've got to try, River. We can try together."

"But Doctor," she said. "How can we leave them?"

It always surprised him when River had a hard time letting people go. It wasn't that he had an easy time with it, in fact it was quite the opposite, but over the years he had learned how to accept a loss and store the memory in your heart in respect; losing so many hadn't taught him nothing.

River's ease with a gun and both her expert ability and willingness to use it made it simple for him to forget River's discomfort with death. She shared a similar heart to his but was much younger, and each death that was nearly preventable was a challenge to her wits for a rescue. Though a sturdy challenger, River could not dissipate the impossible. He could, occasionally, those moments rare and highly cherished.

Not answering her, he continued. "We could stay a few moments longer, if you like." The Doctor hated to linger, but he respected River's need to mourn.

She stared off into space, not acknowledging his existence. "I'd like that. They'd like that."

She gazed into nothingness, allowing her soul to be consumed by heart-wrenching emotion that caused her fists to clench in pain. She let agony, misery, and acceptance wash over her in infallible waves that surged through every piece of her body. River held on to memory, imprints of quieted voices, remembrance acting as her way of mourning them in passing.

Slowly, she turned her head to face the Doctor's burdened eyes, sparkling weakly at her softened frame.

The Doctor held her eyes with his for a long time, reveling in the unspoken comfort and promises floating between them. He moved his fingers to cover hers and heaved her up alongside him. They stood, tall, taking in the surrounding debris and corpses. He kicked a rock lightly with his foot, watching as it rolled painstakingly tensely over coarse granite and small stones.

He took a breath and spoke. "We'll remember them, and that's how they survive. They'll be another story to us."

She let loose a small laugh, tightening her grip in his hand. She changed to interlock her fingers with his, relaxing slightly to the familiar pressure of his palm.

"Because that's what all we are, aren't we?" he said. "We're all stories in the end."

She smiled a small smile, leaning her head on his shoulder. "I'll remember this one."

He nodded, blinking slowly. "So will I."

She laughed again, squeezing his hand. "Come, my love. I think I have some room in my heart for some more. There's life in these old bones yet."


	37. No Matter What

Disclaimer: All rights to the BBC.

**Hey guys, I am still getting back into the groove of writing so here's one as a suggestion from 'CountryGrl.'**

**Thank you for the continual support and please review and tell me what you think, as well as give me some more suggestions. You guys are the best!**

* * *

><p>No Matter What-Papa Roach<p>

_I need you right here by my side,  
><em>_You're everything in my life.  
><em>_We're indestructible, we are untouchable:  
><em>_Nothing can take us down tonight.  
><em>_You are so beautiful, it should be criminal.  
><em>_You can be mine  
><em>_And we will make it out alive,  
><em>_I promise you this love will never die._

* * *

><p>He was still new to them. As far as she could tell, he had only slept with her a minimal amount and his unease in their relationship amused her to no end. She knew she had to laugh, because otherwise she'd cry.<p>

River loved how each touch seemed to come with a small bit of hesitation that made the inevitable that much more spectacular. He was still shy and bewildered whenever she roped her arms around his neck, but he was getting better. Recently, he had almost offered her to ride with him, though she refused to acknowledge his attempts at inquiry.

She liked teasing him especially, her seductive advances always unexpected and met with a childish display of disbelief. It was a game for her, and she played it unsparingly. Today was no exception.

"River, what are you doing?" The Doctor's eyes were glued to the able hands stroking down the lapels of his tweed jacket, her soft fingers brushing rough fabric.

"Well, sweetie," she began. "What do you think I'm doing?"

"Whatever it is I don't think it should be something going on...right at this moment."

River smirked, trailing her fingers to the edge of the lapel and underneath to trace the buttons on his shirt. "And why is that?"

He gulped, eyes wide, trying to formulate a strong response. "We-we, we're in the middle of a rescue since Amy and Rory are somewhere in that house over there, I've no idea where exactly, and everyone in this run-down lame excuse of a town has been warning us about people that go in and don't come out, and even though I know I'm used to these sorts of things they never stop being scary and why are you looking at me like that?"

"Oh, nothing. You're just rambling."

His mouth dropped open, showcasing his shock. He tried hard not to look like an offended five-year-old, but failed miserably. The Doctor gripped one of her wrists in a desire to stop her fingers, holding it there on his chest.

River smiled. "Getting excited, are we?"

The Doctor ignored her and looked over her head at the large victorian standing half a mile in front of them, tattered and breaking. The wind was vicious that night and coming waves, whistling through the creaking windows to produce a sound that echoed far enough down the hill so that River and the Doctor could hear it. There were two lights on: one in the attic and the other on the first floor, gold illuminating the shapes and creases of the dark exterior. The overall creepiness of the place was more than tempting and the Doctor found himself trying to find an excuse to convince River to follow him up to the house, despite his incoherent speech. Knowing River, when she got in one of _these_ moods it was hard to convince her to do anything else.

"We need to get up there."

River sighed, circling the pad of her thumb over his chest. "I just thought..." she trailed off.

"You just thought..." he replied, wanting her to continue.

"Don't take this the wrong way, my love, but your idea of just knocking on the front door and popping in for tea probably won't work. If you ever want to see Amy and Rory again, we should definitely think up some clever incursion to infiltrate the house. Besides, the front steps look crickety."

He pursed his mouth, furrowing his brow, biting on his bottom lip to avoid making a weak retort she'll tease him for later. "That might be a good point."

"Yes," she drawled, smugly arching her eyebrows. "Might be."

"No need to gloat," he huffed.

She laughed, pressing harder on his chest. Smirking at him, she responded. "Always need to gloat."

He squeezed her hand and then released it, secretly admiring the soft underside of her wrist that continued to surprise him. Each time he discovered another soft expanse of skin on River, wonderment would hit him as he marveled at the contradiction of it all. River could be a hardened criminal, but that did not stop her from keeping her body smooth and welcoming.

"Any ideas that don't have a patronizing tone to accompany them?"

River scoffed, turning her head away from him. "Not when you ask like that. Didn't anyone teach you to be polite?"

"Didn't anyone teach you to play fair?"

She broke out into a grin and turned to face him again, gripping the fabric of his shirt in her fingertips. "Yes, but I ignored them."

"You're good at that."

"Anyhow," she began, smiling at his excessive cheekiness. "What if we snuck up through the back and went in through the storm shelter? These old places all have basements, don't they? Then we'll make our way slowly up and through until we find my parents. Sound good?"

She watched him smile down at her, a little too pleased for her taste.

"What is it?"

He laughed, using his free hand to bop her on the nose. "You're very sexy when you make plans."

She smiled back at him and proceeded to lift her free hand to the back of his neck, grip, and lower his lips to hers. River kissed him for a solid couple of minutes, allowing his hands to wander down to her waist. Having released her wrist, he pulled her closer to him as her other hand drifted to his back. After a prolonged kiss, she drew away and giggled as his lips followed her mouth down.

"We've got to go help them out."

He pressed a small kiss to her neck, enticing her to stay. "What, now?"

"Yes, now. Amy and Rory are in trouble up there and...will you _stop_?" Now it was River's turn to distract and she pushed his face gently away from her neck, ignoring his smile beneath her fingertips.

He smirked. "This was your idea, you know."

"Mine? Why, I've no idea what you mean." She batted her eyelashes in a look that was all-too innocent for her face.

Smiling fondly down at her, he took one of her hands in his. "Come on, then, let's go save the universe or something."

Together, hand-in-hand, they walked up the hill to face the oncoming enemy. But they knew that somehow, it didn't really matter how, they'd end up saving the world and then swagger back to their box for a cup of tea, and that's all that really matters.


	38. Highway Unicorn Road to Love

Disclaimer: All rights to the BBC, I own nothing but the writing.

**I'm still having a hard time getting back into the swing, so I apologize if these last few have been awful. Give me time and suggestions, and I'm sure I'll get back into it!**

**Thanks as usual and please read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Highway Unicorn (Road to Love)-Lady GaGa<p>

_Run run with her top down, baby she flies.  
><em>_Run run with the fury of a saint in her eyes,  
><em>_Run run, ha cha cha cha, baby she goes  
><em>_With blonde hair and a gun smoking under her toes._

_Woah, woah  
><em>_Ride ride pony, ride ride.  
><em>_Woah, woah  
><em>_Ride ride pony tonight._

_We can be strong,  
><em>_We can be strong,  
><em>_Out on this lonely run  
><em>_On the road to love._

* * *

><p>The Doctor stepped out of his TARDIS, one hand held on the side of the wooden arch, the other held high to shield his eyes from the bright sun. He was parked right next to an old airplane hangar, which was currently housing a large, private plane presently de-boarding its occupants. Surrounding the hangar were massive fields and a flat skyline, tall and shimmering buildings far out in the distance.<p>

"This isn't the ocean of Triflaxsis-Alpha..." he murmured to himself. "Oh well, let's explore, shall we?"

He tapped the blue box affectionately and strode out towards the plane, a large smile on his face to create a sunny exterior. _Better to hope for the best_, he thought.

Upon reaching the passengers, he noticed their skin to be a brilliant blue that sparkled amiably when under sunlight. The people had three arms each, all currently holding one article of luggage. The closer the Doctor got to the passengers, he noticed a small group of them standing in a circle, facing outwards. The group were dressed uniformly in blue suits that matched their skin tone, their expressions stern and unchanging.

He watched as one person missing an arm flashed identification and entered the circle to inspect whatever was being protected. Now within twenty meters of them, he heard a voice call out:

"Halt! State your name and home planet and don't come any closer!"

The Doctor held his hands up in surrender and flashed the gun-wielding blue man a pleasant smile. "Woh, gun. Hello there, I'm the Doctor. Don't worry, I'm a friend!"

"Home planet."

He arched an eyebrow at the man. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

"Alright," the Doctor chuckled. "Gallifrey."

The entire group darted their heads back and forth in confusion, each person looking for someone with common knowledge. No one seemed to recognize the name, except for one person in the very back who straightened up considerably.

"And where's that, eh? Don't play games with me, son. Now where are you from, out with it."

The Doctor tilted his head in puzzlement. "Really? Gallifrey? Big war across the stars? Time lords?"

The man before him laughed, but held his gun tight. "Time lords? That's a bedtime story."

"I'll have you know-"

But before he could finish, the Doctor was interrupted by a booming female voice that sounded oddly familiar coming from the back of the group. "He's telling the truth."

Intrigued whispers settled throughout the crowd, shock apparent on all faces. The woman stepped forward and rubbed her face with one hand, blue paint smoothed away to reveal a human complexion. The Doctor realized this was the person who had infiltrated the circle before he approached, but kept quiet.

The throng turned to face her and someone shouted, "What the hell? And who are you, then?"

She coughed, striding purposefully towards the Doctor. "Hello, sweetie."

"River?" he asked, incredulous. As she walked towards him she shook loose her hair from the blue cap she was wearing, golden curls now free and wild.

"Time to run," she smiled.

And then the pair was off, sprinting towards the TARDIS, hand-in-hand. The sound of gunfire and streaks of bullets danced throughout their legs, almost grazing the back of the Doctor's knee. He snapped from a few meters away and rushed into the console room, ignoring the shrieks and grunts coming from the people following closely behind.

River ran up the stairs ahead of him, dialing in coordinates and panting heavily. Once she was assured they were safely away from their attackers, she turned to face him and laughed. She reached into her coat and brought forth a small black box, then proceeded to toss it at him.

"A present, for you."

He stared disbelieving at her. "What?"

"Well, I suppose that's a lie. It's really a present for me, that you are going to give to me later on. Or earlier on, depending on whose viewpoint we're talking."

He looked confusedly at the box in his hands and flipped it over, then opened the top to draw out a small diamond in the shape of a circle.

"You're going to have get that set into a silver chain, so you know." She reached into her bosom and pulled out a necklace previously hidden, the same diamond glittering back at him. "See?"

He continued to gape at her, absentmindedly fingering the small gem. "Why was it being guarded?"

"Oh," she waved a hand to dismiss the question. "Last perfectly circular diamond of the Diamond Caves. Romantic, isn't it?"

"River!" his eyes bulged, fuming. "You can't just _take_ this! This should be in a museum or a private collection, or, or, I don't know. Not here!"

"Apparently I can."

He shook a finger at her, reprimanding her boastful smirk. He walked over to where she stood, putting the gem back in the box and handing it over to her. "I don't want this, take it back."

"But Doctor, if I do that, how will you give it to me as a graduation present?"

"Time can be rewritten!"

She scoffed. "Please, darling, it's just a diamond. I promise I'll really appreciate it. Besides, who knows what you might get in return?" she winked at him.

He blushed a delicious shade of red and stammered for a moment before sticking the box in his coat (which resulted in a proud laugh from River) and walking over to the pilot chair, releasing a loud huff as he did. He frowned back at her.

"You need a hobby," he sighed.

"Who says thieving isn't a hobby?"

He sighed again, rubbing his cheek with one hand. "The blue is a bit much, I've got to say. I know it's undercover and all that, but still."

She pouted, circling in a mock showcase. "You mean you don't like it? I was thinking it might be my new thing."

He grinned at that, folding his arms across his chest. Now it was his turn to smirk, and he chuckled throatily before standing up and sauntering over to her. He stopped directly in front of her and swiped her face with one hand, blue paint smearing on to his palm.

"Hey!"

And then they were rolling on the floor laughing, spreading blue on their clothes and the floor, laughing whole-heartedly as they attacked each other with blue hands. Somehow they ended up with River atop him, pinning his biceps to the floor, trying hard to contain her giggling. A few rogue curls fell into her face and he lifted one hand to brush it away, leaving a blue streak on the side of her hair.

"I win," she heaved, breathless from laughing.

He smiled at her, locking her eyes with his. Suddenly, a mischievous tint appeared in hers as she continued.

"Race you to the shower."


	39. I'll Hold My Breath

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the writing but those wonderful people who _do_ own Doctor Who are finally relieving us of our waiting in THREE DAYS. Literally, I can't wait.

**Here's the next chapter, the song suggested by 'iZoe.' I've realized the chapters you guys like the best come from YOUR ideas, so PLEASE give me more of them. I want to write what you want to read.**

**It feels like I've finally gotten back in my stride, so thanks for all the patience and support. I've had a suggestion to write a comical one, so that chapter will be up tomorrow (after I think up some clever premise).**

**Otherwise, thank you for all the love and please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>I'll Hold My Breath-Ellie Goulding<p>

_Until you see me in your dreams  
><em>_We'll stay awake beneath the trees,  
><em>_We'll watch the buildings turn to dust,  
><em>_A sky of diamonds just for us.  
><em>_You are the risk I'll always take,  
><em>_The only branch I'll never break,  
><em>_Those fears we'll blow them all way._

_Fight fires in your best clothes, touch skin with your eyes closed:  
><em>_Chase thunder...  
><em>_With the volume down.  
><em>_Pack a suitcase, wander to the next town.  
><em>_Force quit, on your losing streak,  
><em>_Solve a riddle in a magazine, be tongue in cheek.  
><em>_Tell me that we're still too young, that we're still too young and I'll hold my tongue._

* * *

><p>She's afraid to close her eyes, even for a second, too scared of what she might miss. An adorable smile, a brilliant idea, a nose flick: moments too scarce and too precious to be forgotten, all gone for the sake of a blink. River Song hates to close her eyes.<p>

When she opens her eyes, she sees planets and valleys and stars and _people_, swimming before her in a kaleidoscope of transcendence. Colors, laughter, faces: all flowing and fading, sparking and changing; nothing staying the same. Even when she does look, she's never in the present-her eyes betraying the present to let in light and images from the past. It's hard to live a life with eyes wide open, but she does it.

River knows more than enough to be thankful for all the days she has with him, however many or few that number may be.

She lets out a breath and sighs, trailing circles down the side of the sheet. Her love lies beside her, snoring softly. It's enough to make her laugh but she remains quiet, wanting him to sleep for as long as possible. The longer he sleeps the longer she can lie languidly and watch him, one of her favorite things to do (not that she would ever admit that).

He mumbles something in his slumber and her body tightens, afraid she's been found out. But his eyes stay closed and his breaths stay even, so River lets out a sigh of relief and lays her head back down on the pillow beside him.

Moonlight shines in from the window, hot summer air and shushed jazz music drifting through the open casement. They spent the day exploring mid-twentieth century New Orleans, strolling by the Mississippi River and eating the local foods. It was uneventful and free of death risks, oddly unlike them and entirely pleasant. Though River loves running and scheming and saving (_just_ like the Doctor, she notes), the calm and death-free day was a sweet vacation.

She fixes herself on her elbows and leans over the Doctor, reaching for the glass of wine she left on the night-table earlier that evening. All the doing nothing had tired them out and they had returned to their room early, opting to lounge happily in their room just this once. Which, of course, had quickly turned to other kinds of fun until they drifted off to sleep, which is how she ended up lying next to him on the bed.

River takes a sip from her glass then puts it on the ground, next to the bed, wanting to make her way over to the window. With immense care, she lifts herself from the bed and pulls on a white nightgown, tying it tightly at the waist, then walks over to the other side of the bed. She pulls the sheet to his waist, conscious of both the heat and his sense of dignity.

Waltzing her way over to the open window, she leans her body against the side of the wood. She closes her eyes and hums along to the tune coming from below, the light summer breeze carrying the sound of trumpets and soulful melodies up to where she stands.

She smiles to herself, content, as satisfied as a cat lounging in the sun.

The light from the street-lamps and open cafes blocks out a large portion of the stars, but River can still see the full moon in the night sky, brilliantly white in a sea of darkness.

From her perch, she can see nighttime lovers strolling under the trees, moonlight streaking through to catch the smiles of the blissfully ignorant couples below. It reminds her of her beloved, dozing mere meters away, and she turns back to give him her attention.

Tonight is an outlier for them-they are relatively caught up and this is a one-night-only visit, on her terms. She has work she wants to get back to, seeing as though she is currently in the middle of some new fascinating discovery that he wouldn't care to hear about. When he stopped by with a smile and promising trip, she couldn't resist-even if only for a moment. She knows he will remind her he has a _time machine_ and can take her back whenever, but she also knows she will remind _him_ they are never on time and, besides, she likes her work. It gives her something to wake up for that isn't the sound of an engine materializing.

Slowly, she makes her way over to her sleeping time lord, eyes still shut tight with muscles all-too relaxed for the face that wears them. Carefully, she rests her hand on the warms curves of his back, happy to just feel him breathe: in and out.

She realizes she could let herself be sad, drown in misery and tears with his arms to comfort her, but River also knows there is no point to that. She has lived long enough to have figured out that nothing comes of her moping, so instead she is grateful to the universe for giving her the warm, breathing time lord beneath her fingertips. She is grateful, just like she always is. How could she not be, when she's had love like this?

She thinks he's perfect, just the way he is. He's handsome (this is one of her favorites, definitely), charming, clever, and utterly irresistible. Besides, the amenities that come with this regeneration are hopelessly endearing. His floppy brown hair and matching bow-tie have coaxed their way into her heart, both two things she now looks forward to with her adventures accompanying this one.

River understands that he's helplessly arrogant and entirely too self-involved, but somehow these flaws make her love him more. If the most spectacular being in the universe can have flaws, then hers seem insignificant and fixable.

Suddenly he is rolling over and facing her, and she realizes he has woken up. He gives her a lazy smile and kisses her fingertips that now rest, forgotten, on his chest.

"Good morning," he yawns.

She laughs, lifting her hand from his grasp. "Not yet, sweetie." She points out the window, at the moon.

He leans upwards for a moment then decides he doesn't have enough energy yet, falling back to the bed. "Fine, have it your way. Good evening."

She flashes him an amused smile and kisses his forehead, then straightens back up. "Good sleep?"

"Mm," he nods affirmatively. "Is that-"

"Frank Sinatra?" she interrupts. "Yes, it's the cafe from downstairs. It's awfully pleasant, isn't it?"

"Aren't I just?"

She laughs again, pressing her palm into his chest. He reaches up with his own hand and inspects it, tracing the pad of his thumb along her wrist. He stares at it long enough for River to feel uncomfortable, and she draws it back for her own inspection. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Doctor."

"Honestly River, there's nothing there."

She sends him a glance that says she doesn't believe him. "So why were you staring at it?"

He is quiet for a moment, thinking. Then he sits up slowly, resting his back against the headboard, his eyes now level with hers. "It's beautiful, is all."

"What is?"

"Your hand!" he smiles. "Look." He takes her hand and drags it towards him, forcing her to fall a bit forward on the bed. He starts to trace the lines on her palm, eyes focused and shining. "This line is unlike any line _ever_, that has ever existed in the _whole_ universe. It's completely unique to you. It's just another part of you that separates you from the rest of universe. River, it's beautiful."

Her heart feels so full at that moment she can't do anything but smile at him, so she does. "I've never really thought about that," she says.

He sends her a look that is too sweet for her _not_ to lean in and kiss him, so she does. When she withdraws, he looks incredibly pleased with himself and strangely triumphant. "I like it when you do that," he mumbles.

"Oh I know," she laughs.

"So," he begins. "Do you really have to go back so soon?"

She sighs, dissatisfied that he's had to change the topic. "I'm just about on the brink of a revelation, my love. You wouldn't deny me that."

"Time machine?" he blinks, hopeful.

She rolls her eyes but moves to lie beside him, her head cradled in the crook between his arm and collarbone. "I love my job," she says frankly.

"More than me?" he pouts.

She stifles a snort and digs her head into his chest, playful. "_So_ much more."

He scoffs and brings his arm around to tug her waist, pulling him towards her. Once she is settled, he surprises her by twisting them so he lands on his back, her shrieking above him. "Is that so?"

She pushes herself down on his body, kissing his sternum slowly. "Maybe, maybe not. I'll let you figure it out, I know how you love a good mystery."

Then he grabs her biceps and flips them around again, this time with him above her. The little laughs she keeps releasing are his final goal, and he smiles smugly each time she breathes them out. "Either way, you're not at your job right now, are you?"

"No," she laughs out. "I'm not."

"So I think we both know who came out victorious in that one, eh?"

She rolls her eyes again, nonetheless gripping his back with her hands.

He grins, triumphant. "Exactly what I thought."


	40. I've Got a Crush On You

Disclaimer: All rights to their respective owners, I only own the writing, no profit or infringement intended.

**I had a hearty request from 'bleach-otaku' to write some comical stuff, so hopefully this fulfills that want! Generally, I'm bad at thinking up funny situations so if you guys could send me suggestions (about ANYTHING, really) that would be greatly appreciated.**

**Thank you for the reviews and feedback, I'm so glad you are all enjoying it. Please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>I've Got a Crush On You-Frank Sinatra<p>

_I'm your big and brave and handsome Romeo,  
><em>_How I won you I shall never never know.  
><em>_It's not that you're attractive  
><em>_But, oh, my heart grew active  
><em>_When you came into view._

_I've got a crush on you, sweetie pie,  
><em>_All the day and night-time give me sigh.  
><em>_I never had the least notion that  
><em>_I could fall with so much emotion._

* * *

><p>The Doctor adjusted his bow-tie with more-than-needed enthusiasm, making a point to fluff the bows <em>just<em> that way. Perfect.

He tugged on his tweed to flatten the jacket out, taking some joy in this careful excuse to appear presentable. He was going to visit River on an outlier (really, it had been a long while since he had broken their rules and by now he was antsy to do so) and wanted to look his best, conscious of her affections for him.

Opening the blue doors gently, the Doctor found himself directly outside the door to an university lecture hall. Curious, he flattened the palm of his hand against the glass and pushed to enter.

Before him was a large, spacious room that held a grand set of chairs all lined in rows, facing the front in a jagged decline. There were at least twenty horizontal rows of cushioned seats, almost all of them occupied by an eager student. Rubbing his chin awkwardly, the Doctor slid into an open seat in the back, suddenly sheepish with the two hundred-about pairs of eyes staring at him inquisitively. He slunk into his chosen chair with a quick flourish, straightening the bottom of his jacket before slipping to sit.

Hushed whispers erupted amongst the crowd, the words "bow-tie" and "who" and "seriously" floating throughout the group. Three booming, consecutive claps echoed in the hall and then all were quiet, a sudden turn of attention from the back to the front.

"So who's late today, guys? No need to make a ruckus."

For the first time since his clumsy entrance into the room, the Doctor looked to the front to read the large, capital letters displayed in blue marker on the board. "_Our Earth: Before it was New"_, the Doctor thought to himself. _Great, I've landed in a room full of aspiring archaeologists. Just my luck._

"Your name, darling, what is it?"

The Doctor snapped from his thoughts to glance down at the voice's owner. At the bottom platform stood Professor River Song, her hand lifted to her forehead to shield her eyes from the fluorescent lights overhead.

"Smith, Professor. John Smith." He watched her eyes flicker in recognition before resuming their original look of indifference.

"Well, Mr. Smith, I'm glad you're eager to learn but could you do so without disrupting my class? This bunch is rowdy enough as it is."

This exclamation sent a murmured uproar throughout her students, all voicing their disagreement then quickly shushing each other. She laughed, radiant, the hearty laugh of a mother listening to her disgruntled child.

She tucked her hair behind her ear before continuing. "Anyways, as I was saying."

He stifled a grin before settling further into his chair, content to mold a comfortable shape with his seat. Listening to her lecture, he found himself properly engaged and attentive, her lecturing a magnificent balance of humor and education.

Tearing his eyes away from the beauty speaking at the platform, he let his eyes wander around the room.

There were two or three bored-looking participants, but mostly the students sat engrossed, beguiled by their curly-haired teacher. River spoke on and on, the crowd laughing, smiling, and writing all at the right times. It was clear for anyone to see how the group adored her; the majority hanging on to her every word. There were even a few admirers, as far as he could tell.

Two of them were scattered decently in the audience, but one chiseled, handsome young man sat on the far right side of the front row. His eyes never left her, not even to take notes-following her every sashay across the floor, every time her lips upturned into a smile.

The man had short hair (_definitely_ not as vivacious as his own, the Doctor believed) and a charming smile, one that appeared which each of River's jokes. The Doctor felt his stomach tighten when he thought he saw River flash him a wink, a quick but disreputable act.

Moving to sit tall in his chair, the Doctor flushed out his chest to broaden his shoulders, despite the fact River was not paying him any attention. He knew in his heart of hearts she was a flirtatious person, of course he did, but leading these boys on like puppies was mean. Downright awful.

He sat there, slowly consumed with irritability and (no, not _jealousy_) frustration. By the end of the lecture, his ears had more than likely turned to a bright red and his knuckles were white from holding on to the side of his seat so tightly. But he stayed where he was until most of the students had shared a private laugh and left, with only a few remaining. The final kids trickled out until it was just him, River, and the man from the front row.

Carefully watching them interact, the Doctor slowly made his way down the stairs to where the pair was having a shared laugh, purposefully stopping a few meters behind them so as to hear but not enter the conversation.

"Oh Richard, you're a devil," she grinned. "Behave!"

The man referred to as Richard smiled deviously before arching his eyebrows quickly, so fast the Doctor almost didn't catch it. But he did.

"What's the work for tonight, River?"

River cleared her throat at the informality but didn't reprimand him. "Chapter thirty, it's all about the technological revolution. It's fascinating, love, I promise."

The Doctor smiled to himself as he noticed the lack of a possessive article: she had said "love," not "_my_ love." It was barely anything and really the Doctor shouldn't even be feeling the need to validate his feelings, but he held on firmly to the small victory nonetheless.

"I'd believe anything you said," Richard smiled.

River laughed again, waving her hand in dismissal. "Stop it, darling."

"Not for anyone," he replied. "Maybe for you."

"Richard, really."

The man straightened his back and shoulders and the Doctor had to cup his hand to his mouth to keep from laughing, making short eye contact with River to let her know he was there and thoroughly enjoying this. Even though deep down, he really wasn't. One would think it would get easier to see the love of your life flirting with another man, but it really, really didn't.

Richard folded his arms over his chest, no doubt to firm up his biceps. "River Song, I have a question to ask of you."

"Anything."

He swallowed, shaking the smallest bit as he continued. "What are you doing tonight?"

River was about to answer before the Doctor took three large steps forwards and intruded, smiling grandly at the pair.

"She's busy tonight, actually. Hello there! You can call me Smith. As I was saying, we've got a seriously important date she couldn't possibly miss."

River rolled her eyes, but allowed the Doctor to take another step closer to her.

"That's fine, what about tomorrow?"

She sighed, leaning her weight on the foot closest to the Doctor. "Teacher-student relationships are strictly off-regulation," she warned.

"But-"

"And besides, she's busy tomorrow night as well," the Doctor interrupted. He swiftly wrapped his arm around her waist, eliciting an eye-roll and small chuckle from River.

Richard glared at him, eyes darting back and forth from the Doctor's face to his hand. "She can speak for herself, I'm sure."

"That's not the only thing she can do," the Doctor muttered under his breath. Like he wanted, Richard's face turned bright red as did River's, whose face read a countenance of amusement, embarrassment, and disbelief. River coughed, shocked at the Doctor's bluntness. It was completely surprising...but kind of turned her on, a bit.

She regained her composure, staring at the Doctor as she replied to Richard. "He's right, though, I've previous engagements...apparently."

The Doctor beamed, tugging her closer to him before turning to face the student. "Well, friend, it seems you're out of luck. Try someone a bit closer in age next time."

The man muttered something under his breath that rang something like _"you too, asshole"_ before walking briskly out the door.

Now alone, River and the Doctor burst into laughter as soon as the door clicked shut. In tears, River tried to catch her breath to speak. "That...was...awfully mean," she managed.

He caught his breath and smiled back at her, standing himself upright after doubling over from laughter. "You shouldn't lead them on like that, you know."

She smirked at him. "Like what?"

"Like...that! With the winking, and the walking, and the chesty laughs."

She grinned. "And why's that?"

He blushed, crimson coloring filling his cheeks. "Because-why-it's-that's not the point!"

She laughed again, stepping closer to him so that she could press a small peck to his cheek. "I'm just winding you up, dear."

He relaxed against her touch and leaned in, roping her into a hug. "I knew that."

Then, without warning, River leaned back in his grasp and slapped him, hard, across the face. He let go of her swiftly, bringing his hands up to cling at his cheek. "What the _hell_ was that for?"

River glared at him, half-joking half-serious. "Next time you interrupt my class I promise your cheek won't be the only thing hurting."


	41. Guilty

Disclaimer: All rights to their respective owners, no profit or infringement is intended from these piece of fiction.

**Took a few days off, watched the new episode, had many complicated emotions. I missed River a lot-we saw so much Melody but not any _River_, really. SO here you go.**

**Thank you for the constant source of smiling with your reviews, and please tell me what you think! I like reading anything you say. As always, please read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Guilty-Billie Holiday<p>

_Is it a sin, is it a crime,  
><em>_Loving you dear like I do?  
><em>_If it's a crime then I'm guilty,  
><em>_Guilty of loving you._

_Maybe I'm wrong dreaming of you,  
><em>_Dreaming the lonely night through,  
><em>_If it's a crime then I'm guilty:  
><em>_Guilty of dreaming of you._

* * *

><p>"Ponds, I've got to pop out for a moment. Won't be long."<p>

Amy folded her arms, giving him her best rendition of unspoken disbelief. "Last time you said that we ended up having to barter for the rights to own you, slaveboy. Speaking of which, our room's a bit messy and could use a quick clean-up."

The Doctor huffed and clicked his tongue disapprovingly, walking over to where she and Rory stood on the other side of the console room. Leaning casually against the console, he replied. "And I've already thanked you for that, so how about we forgive and forget? Let it go."

Now it was Rory's turn to voice contempt for the idea. "She's right, Doctor, I don't want to have list your qualities I find the most important once again. We've already had to do that twice."

The Doctor sighed, running his hand through his hair. "You too, Rory? Blimey."

"Besides, where are you going? We'll come too," Amy shrugged.

The bow-tie wearer pursed his lips, staring blankly at Amy. "And last time _that_ happened we ended up in the middle of a civil war with acid-mining people. That's one trip I only need to have once, thank you _so_ much."

A hesitant pause settled in the atmosphere around them, the Doctor silently negotiating his point with nonchalant stature and Amy staring tight-lipped and pensive. After a few uncomfortable moments, she relented.

"Alright Doctor, fine. But we're not helping you escape captivity if that's what it comes down to. Again."

He smiled, rubbing his hands together. "No need, Pond. Back in a mo'."

Then he strode confidently towards the doors, pushing them open with a single flick of his wrist. Closing the wood gently behind him, he leaned against the doors and breathed out a nervous expiration. He smoothed his hair to the side, internally pleased at his remembrance to gel it that morning (whatever 'morning' is in the TARDIS, anyway), primping himself for his next encounter.

The walls of the Stormcage Containment Facility, circa 51st century, were illuminated by the same effervescent green that greeted him on every visit. The place had grown to have a pleasant sense of familiarity now, and he wasn't sure if that was a metaphor or not. A prison beginning to feel like home? He decided it would be better not to think about it.

Turning the corner with a flourish, he spied River Song reclining comfortably on her bed, book held casually open with one hand. To her right was a cup of tea, still steaming, and a blue journal and pen laid aside. It was surprisingly domestic and that made him smile, the straightforwardness a nice change from the temporal complexities he'd recently encountered.

He walked over to her cell slowly, noting the quick flicker of her eyes before they returned to her book, and knocked effortlessly on the bars.

"Knock, knock."

She lifted her gaze up to the Doctor with reluctance, as if it was _such_ an inconvenience to pause her reading, and smiled amusedly. "Hello, sweetie."

"I've decided I like it when you call me that," he said before pausing, checking himself. "And I hope you don't use that against me later on."

She laughed, bubbly and joyous. "No promises. Though I suppose you would know, wouldn't you?"

He grinned. "Spoilers."

With a small simper, she reached down and grabbed her journal. "Come in, my love. Where are we now?"

He soniced the lock open and then again to shut off the alarms, observing the act as a ritual he knew would become habit soon enough. Sliding the bars closed behind him, he walked over to River and sat with a huff on her bed, sending waves of energy over the mattress. She frowned at him but said nothing, so he leaned slightly awkwardly against the wall, uncomfortable but too proud to shift.

"Berlin was about three weeks ago, my time."

She pursed her lips, flipping pages. "Berlin when?"

"1939."

"Which time?"

"There's more than one?"

She shut her book closed, tucking it underneath her mattress. "The first then, obviously."

Ignoring her comment, he sighed, sliding gracelessly further down on the wall. She smirked at his apparent discomfort and folded her arms, waiting for him to relinquish his pride. Now half-sitting half-lying down, the Doctor was torn between his desire to be comfortable and not to relent to River's smirk.

After a few moments of what he considered an adequate waiting period, he sat himself upright against the wall, avoiding eye-contact.

"How are you doing?" Her question was surprisingly compassionate and it took him a moment to realize she was talking about Berlin, not his current state.

He inhaled a large, heavy breath before replying. "I'm okay. Like always."

She laughed, stroking a finger down the sleeve of his jacket. "That has never, not once, ever been true."

He stayed quiet, staring off into space, so she tried another tactic.

"If so, why the visit?"

He turned his gaze to her, heavy-lidded and emotionally exhausted. He leaned the smallest bit into her touch, clasping his hands together. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"You saw me three weeks ago!"

He frowned, his bottom lip twitching. "Not you, River."

Deciding to ignore the small bubble of frustration in her chest, she sighed and scooted closer to him. She could lecture him about that another time, she knew. Right now he needed her, River Song, so that is what she would give him.

"Well I _just_ saw you."

"Did you? Was I as charming and clever as ever?"

She rolled her eyes but leaned her head against his shoulder nonetheless, breathing evenly. "Always."

He laughed softly, careful not to disrupt her stance. Shifting cautiously, he leaned his head against her curl-covered one. "You said you would marry me. Back in Berlin. Would you?" He paused. "Do you?"

Her body froze momentarily, all of her muscles tightened and tense. "Now, my love. Spoilers."

The Doctor brushed his hand lightly over hers, the one resting contently on his knee. He traced small circles of Gallifreyan over her knuckles, unspoken promises shared and remembered, the two last. He could sense her relax again, molding to satisfaction in replace of temporal paradoxes.

Sighing, he looked down at her. "I've got to go soon. Left the Ponds back in the TARDIS. Sorry, your parents, not the Ponds..." he trailed off.

"I know it's weird," she confessed. "It gets better."

"Is that a promise?"

She released a short laugh, blinking slowly, before sitting up and disentangling herself from his grasp. "Go on, then, before they come out and start asking questions. I'm not in the mood."

He grinned, cheeky. "But they're your parents!"

"Exactly. Now go."

He got up reluctantly, leaning down to steal a peck from her lips, and jumped, startled, when she patted him on the butt. It sent him out the cell in a mess of limbs and jumbled words, looking back only once he was safely out in the corridor.

"See you soon, I hope," he called out.

She smiled, picking up her book. "Promise."


	42. Do You Swear to Tell the Truth?

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the writing, no profit or infringement is intended.

**Inspired late-night by a couple glowing reviews to do another quick episode in our series, I wrote this fun one out for you all. I really hope you like it, despite the slightly different tone.**

**Thank you, sincerely, for all the support. Honestly, all of your reviews and feedback are the reasons I keep writing. Keep me smiling, I beg you! My loves, please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Do You Swear To Tell the Truth?-Amanda Palmer<p>

_Now I have friends and I'm not such a loser  
><em>_But I go to bars all the time and I sit there  
><em>_And order red wine and I write, and I like being alone around people,  
><em>_Yes that's how I like it._

_And I've already spent too much time  
><em>_Doing things I didn't want to,  
><em>_So if I wanna sit here and write and drink wine,  
><em>_You can bet your black ass that I'm going to._

* * *

><p>River paused in the middle of her sip, eyes flickering to catch the time on her vortex manipulator. It was twelve more minutes, fifty-six more seconds, and 9.8 more nanoseconds until she would shoot. River Song was, after all, not impolite. And insanely accurate in her timing but hey, she supposed that was what happened when you were raised to be a weaponry assassin.<p>

Settling herself further down on her barstool, she turned to face outwards from the bar, finally sick of the lingering stares belonging to the bartender. For one, she figured she was taken already, and besides, he was green and entirely not her type. She liked the confident hero, proud and self-righteous, and this guy seemed to have a backbone similar to some of the amoebic-andriods she'd crossed paths with in her lifetimes.

Scoping the room, River noticed only one person that could be perceived as a possible threat and she was totally wrapped up in conversation with a beautiful woman, so River figured she'd be having no problems. That was the glorious thing about run-down, sickly intergalactic bars-the bottom-feeders of the universe preyed here, and were no match to her if deciding to spoil any of her plans. It made the whole experience much more enjoyable.

River patted her thigh once, twice, before circling the underside of her hand over the slight bulge of her jodhpur, merely out of quiet reassurance. The action would normally be a bold one on the job but would go unnoticed here, all the lost souls too busy drinking and trying to forget to watch out for a well-dressed, athletic woman patting her leg around a gun-sized lump.

With seven more minutes, twenty-two seconds, and 12.5 nanoseconds to go, River sighed heavily. Time was passing slower than she wanted and she was finding it difficult to discover new ways of entertaining herself, with only her mind and the crowd as playmates.

"Another one, miss?" The bartender tapped her shoulder, hopeful, and River fought the urge to recoil from the touch, for fear it would cause upset. The last thing she needed right now was any kind of formal attention.

She smiled, not wholly unpleasant. "No thanks, dear. I'm set."

He smiled back, entirely fake, and returned to his work. She sighed again, this time out of relief, and checked her wrist. Not much longer now.

Deciding to do something at least a little productive, River pondered why she'd chosen this job in the first place. Her employer was a greedy Duggan from the planet Yaara, a sphere so grotesque she dreaded knowing she'd have to go back. To her, it was a junkyard planet that went on for miles and miles of trash but, to the Duggan who owned it, the globe was a masterpiece of an art gallery, the finest rubbish from all over the universe. It was his prize and sole magnum opus, and he needed one of the finest criminals to steal a few finishing touches from the trashiest places in the galaxy. He called for a consultation and she had accepted the job, leaving the items up to her disposal to choose. He paid great money for the job, so she decided it wouldn't hurt, just this once, to do such an unadmired task.

By the end of it, though, River was unsure why she had agreed to bring trash to a trash planet. Did this make her some kind of weird robber-thief-trash-collector? She shrugged off the notion and checked her wrist.

Less than a minute to go. _Right then, okay._ She scanned for the nearest exits a final time before reaching down to grab her gun, fingers slipping under her waistband to clasp at cool metal. Her soft fingers tickled her thigh, causing a small smile to appear on her features. With the smile still on her lips and a quick breath, River Song drew out the gun and fired a single shot at the ceiling.

"Alright everybody, it's been a lovely night but I'm a bit bored. Hope no one minds if I go on a quick stealing spree."

Standing and turning to face the bartender, she motioned to the back room with a nudge of her head.

"Be a love and grab me some bowls, would you? The ones that hold the mixed nuts. The nastier, the better."

Turning back to smile at the room, she amused herself by the lack of coherent reactions. There were two or three original screams at the gunshot, but most of the bar-goers sat frozen, motionless and silent, too drunk to stand or make any sort of counterattack.

"Now, you lot, I don't want to shoot anyone. This can be a nice, clean job. And-" she spun on the spot, directly staring at the bartender who had emerged with the bowls. "-don't think I don't see that gun on your belt. Drop it now, or I start shooting."

The bartender sighed before placing the bowls on the counter and relenting, dropping his weapon to the floor. He pushed the bowls closer to her, then took a step back with his arms held up in surrender.

"Thank you. I'm going to leave now, and when I do, try to forget this ever happened. It won't be too hard, what with all the forgetting you're doing already. Have fun!"

And then she was sprinting out the door, bowls in hand, fully aware of the bartender's quick reaction to phone the police. She knew she had to run, and fast, to a nicely hidden area where she could catch her breath before she could adjust the rumbling objects in her hand and dial away coordinates.

She turned a dark corner, still running, and saw a flicker of police lights in the corner of her eye. _Shit_, she thought.

The hovercrafts here were much faster than her legs, despite her being in the best shape of her life. She hadn't hoped she would need to outrun a hovercar, but these things never have been straightforward.

Sirens erupted from directly in front of her as she landed herself at the corner of a four-way intersection, causing her to halt her paces momentarily. Lending an ear to sensory production, it soon became apparent there were hovercrafts coming from all ways. A thick, faster thumping in her chest told her she needed to get out and _now_.

Without warning, the sound of an engine materializing broke the aria of sirens to alert her of a new ship's presence. Her favorite blue box swam into view in the middle of the roadway, the pilot jumping out, illuminated sonic screwdriver in hand pointing wildly at the closing-in hovercars.

"Go, go!" he shouted. "I'll give you time!"

She flashed him a broad smile and a wink before taking the time to readjust the bowls on her arm, allowing her to dial in coordinates safely and easily. She grinned and waited a courteous 3.56 seconds before spiraling away into the vortex, leaving without a trace.

In that small period of time she stood waiting to disappear, the thought crossed her mind that he would always be there to catch her, even if she didn't need catching. The thought made her smile and decide to hunt him down for a visit after she dropped off the bowls, because _he_ was her metaphysical rock, grounding her in the middle of her life's turbulent flight.

And for that, she loved him.


	43. When It Rains

Disclaimer: All rights to the BBC, no infringement or profit intended.

**Here's the next one up, tell me what you think! I'd love some prompts from you guys so please send me those, I really appreciate them. This song was suggested by 'bleach-otaku.'**

**As usual, thank you for all the kind words and please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>When It Rains-Paramore<p>

_And when it rains,  
><em>_Well, you always find an escape,  
><em>_Just running away from all of the ones who love you,  
><em>_From everything._

_You made yourself a bed at the bottom of the blackest hole  
><em>_(Blackest hole)  
><em>_And you'll sleep till May,  
><em>_And you'll say that you don't wanna see the sun anymore._

* * *

><p>River Song wouldn't say she is fearless. True, many of the common fears among people are not too high on her list of things to be afraid of, but that is because those fears are irrational. At least, this is what she believes. Or rather, what she chooses to.<p>

She could go on and on about her fear of losing him, though not by death (_heaven's_ no, that's far too normal a thing to ever be _afraid_ of), and losing that meaning in his eyes when he says her name-that look in his eyes, gleaming and shining when he sees her. More often than not, it feels like coming home-that is, if River knew what having a home meant. Nevertheless, she imagines that look is what it would feel like.

When she was Melody Pond, she was terrified all the time. But not of stupid things like spiders or men in alleyways, oh no, her younger days came with a much more guarded sense of fear over love and trust, which is (in her humble opinion) too often taken for granted.

It's all a bit ironic, and she knows that now, that despite her younger self she has turned into quite the romantic. It's all a little disgusting, really, but she doesn't mind.

It was an arduous process to become who she is today, but she supposes it was worth it in the end. A few scratches and battle-scars are daily reminders of who she used to be and who she is now, and they serve as noncommittal tattoos of her love for the Doctor. They are there forever, even though they haven't always been, and they are always getting a tiny bit larger or smaller, depending on your angle.

Her scars are her promises to remember, if nothing else. They guarantee to the universe that, as long as she lives, their fairy-tale will never be forgotten.

Their fairy-tale is a strange one, the story of a trickster with a heart of gold, an old and experienced soldier who looks _so _much younger, a flame-haired mother with the heart to match, and a tailored assassin too consumed with emotion to separate love from hate.

It is the story of nightmares, she thinks, but also the story of love, so River doesn't know where that leaves them. She knows she could take the time to stop and ponder it or she could keep writing the story, and she chooses the latter every time. So frequently, in fact, that it isn't as much a choice anymore as a routine.

What she does know is that she will run and he will catch her, always.

A subtle but purposeful cough draws her back to reality as she turns her head to the exclamation's origin, a permanent smirk set in on her lips. "Yes, sweetie?"

He studies her for a moment, his forehead wrinkles converging to _almost_ give him a set of eyebrows. It is a funny thought, but she withholds a giggle to accommodate his tepid demeanor.

"Nothing, I'm fine," he finally replies. His lips are pursed and she knows he is lying.

She settles a hand on her waist, cocking her head slightly to let him know she doesn't believe him. "I never implied you weren't."

"I don't suppose you did..." he trails off, apparently wanting to end the subject there.

Running a finger behind her ear to stifle a curl, she doesn't drop the conversation. Of course she doesn't. "So what's wrong?"

He gulps quickly and her heightened senses pick up a faster rhythm in his chest, thumping and pumping blood throughout his miraculous body. He doesn't answer her, instead giving her one of those wide smiles that doesn't quite reach his eyes. It is her least favorite of his looks, because it is so contradictory and abnormal that it gets under her skin. Though his face is young, it is at times like these that he never looks older.

The Doctor spins on his heels and heads out the console room, calling behind himself: "Don't follow me!"

In turn, River rolls her eyes. She would have much preferred to stay there by herself and maybe tinker with breaking pieces of the TARDIS, but now that he'd said that it would be embarrassing not to go after him. Which he obviously knew, making it all the more frustrating.

He's younger than her but still knows her well, their present relationship a weird array of power. He thinks he's done everything so he acts a little too pious, though River is aware of how far he has to go. It's comical really, because they never seem to end while they don't ever really begin.

She doesn't know where he wants her to follow but she knows she will because he doesn't, and it's just around the corner while also never leaving the same place at all. The TARDIS is a box and she never moves from it, speaking of when inside it, though at the same time she never _stops_ moving. Its halls are her time sensitive playgrounds, and she marvels in their glory as she strides down them in hot pursuit of its pilot.

She follows him because he says not to, and she knows that he knows she will even if she doesn't, and if she ponders it too much suddenly she is thinking in circles and her head starts to hurt. Their relationship is a circular paradox that even a full-grown time lady has a hard time thinking about, so she tends not to dwell on it.

Turning a corner, she sees his bedroom door is casually held open and huffs loudly to voice her disdain over so mundane a destination. He has the oddest ways of asking her to his bed.

She walks into the room and then the door shuts, and his body and voice is behind her, whispering softly into her mess of curls.

"I told you not to follow me."

"I don't follow your rules. Rule 506."

He snorts, tentatively placing his hands on her waist. "Did you know that 5+0+6=11?"

She actually breaks out into a grin but refrains from laughing, secretly glad he can't see her face. "Oh? I had absolutely no idea."

He freezes for a moment, no doubt furrowing his brow in confusion. "Wait, really?"

"Oh, bless." She reaches behind her and kisses his cheek, pushing her body closer to his. "Lying, dear, it's rule one."

She feels his smile against her neck as he pulls her in tighter, basking in the warm presence of his body's lines with hers. "That one only applies to me."

"Which brings us back to 506. I don't follow your rules."

Laughing softly again, he spins her around to face him with feather-light fingers. "We could do another kind of lying, though, if you want."

She can't help but chuckle at that, his smile finally reaching his eyes. She sighs dreamily but only for a moment, careful to keep him from noticing. "This is quite a song and dance just to ask me to..._dance_."

He blushes for a second but braves through it, walking them slowly closer to the edge of the bed. "Who said anything about dancing? I was talking about lying."

"There is so much double-meaning in this conversation it's ridiculous."

He laughs out loud this time, pressing her down on the bed. "I think that's a challenge."

And the next thing she knows they are drenched and covered in nothing but sweat and tangled in the sheets, her head on his chest and his eyes drifting shut as he attempts for sleep. Resting her palm on his abdomen, she treasures the spattering of hair tickling her cheek and the warmth radiating off of him. It's a nice reminder that she has nothing to be afraid of.

For now, anyway.


	44. Fortunate Fool

Disclaimer: Doctor Who is owned by the BBC, not me, and no profit or infringement is intended in this piece of fiction.

**Here's the next chapter, my loves! I'm actually quite proud with how this came out-it just sort of wrote itself, and it's a bit different than the other ones but I think I like the change of pace.**

**I still really want your suggestions and I have a few lined up to write, but I look forward to your ideas-really, PLEASE send them to me.**

**Thank you for all the wonderful feedback and reviews, I'm SO glad you guys are enjoying it. Please, please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Fortunate Fool-Jack Johnson<p>

_She's got it all figured out,  
><em>_She knows what everything's about  
><em>_And when anybody doubts her,  
><em>_Or sings songs without her,  
><em>_She's just so mmm._

_She knows the world is just her stage  
><em>_And so she'll never misbehave.  
><em>_She gives thanks for what they gave her,  
><em>_Man, they practically made her  
><em>_Into a mmm._

* * *

><p>His hands clench white marble as he slinks down against the sink, his knees bent out at awkward angles and the side of his cheek pressed to cold stone. He's burning up, heat shooting through him as the Doctor clings to the bathroom sink as if it his lifeline, panting hard and swimming just above consciousness.<p>

He knows this feeling will pass, it always does. Just a bit of extra radiation to be absorbed and then he'll be good as new, only an hour or two left of the fiery sensations.

He ignores the bubbling up of fear in his chest, residing directly in-between his two hearts. There is no reason to be afraid, he'll be fine and he knows that, but after two regenerations caused by background radiation it's enough to scare him; if only a little. He finds himself wishing he had someone with him, someone who could take care of him so he didn't have to, but he understands this is a childish desire and forgoes entertaining the idea. In the end the Doctor is always alone, and he needs to accept that.

The TARDIS is doing her best to help, supplying him with a well-equipped bathroom with any and all things he requires to get through this. In the midst of his pain he reaches out a single hand and strokes the wall, letting her know he appreciates it. Not long now, he hopes.

Lifting his elbows is a gargantuan effort but somehow he manages, in his misery, to plop his forearms onto the top of the sink and heave himself upwards. His legs are shaky and they can't handle his weight so he leans into the entity for support, his hot forehead brushing against the cool glass of the mirror.

Fire is ripping through him now, catching his breath and short-circuiting his brain until he can only think in pictures, crying out for relief.

"Help me," he whispers. His plea goes unnoticed in the room; figures, he's all alone. But he can't think clearly or properly, so he tries again. "Help me."

Without warning, there is the sound of crackling and a flash of white light that scorches his eyes when he looks up. His hearts are pounding, trying their hardest to escape his chest and his vision clouds as he turns to look at the source. Squinting, he sees a pair of wine red lips and a few tousled, golden curls before succumbing to darkness.

When he wakes up he is surrounded by blankets, warm and inviting. Somehow he finds himself in his bed, properly changed and no longer sweating profusely. The back of his head is thumping slightly and it takes him a moment to realize the feeling is a headache, and he curls into a ball as he attempts to encompass himself in the softness of his sheets.

He blinks a few times, getting used to sight again, then fully opens his eyes and scopes out the room. There's a dying fire in the fireplace (since when did his bedroom have a fireplace?) and his clothes are folded neatly at the end of the bed. The chair across from him is empty but has been moved from its usual stance at the desk, now residing at the side of the bed. He notices someone has tinkered with the bottom and turned it into a rocking chair and he laughs aloud, surprised.

The room has been tidied up, swept, and arranged into a more organized state than it usually is. If he squints he thinks he can see that the layer of dust on his desk has been wiped away, as well as the nonsensical papers that preside there. There is no one else with him and he feels a bit sad, but ignores the emotion and stuffs it away. He doesn't feel like being sad just now.

Reluctantly, he pushes the blankets aside and stands up. His limbs still feel oddly disconnected and he isn't quite in control of his center of balance yet, but he perseveres and rearranges the bed so it looks nice. With a heavy sigh, he pads his way over to the en-suite bathroom and turns the doorknob, the weight of the door relinquishing in his hands.

It has been cleaned up since he was last in it, the rug smoothed out and any liquids mopped up. The contents on top of the sink have formed into neat rows and the toilet seat has been moved down, and he can't help but chuckle.

There is a pair of red lips left on the mirror's glass and he lays a finger to the right of the imprint, smiling softly to himself. He looks downwards and sees a tube of rouged lipstick set squarely aside for him to spot. He picks it up and examines it, shifting the plastic between his fingers. He grips it tightly for a moment then releases some of the pressure, shaking it in front of his face and tapping it fondly to his to forehead.

He puts it down and ventures back into his bedroom, now on the search for more clues. He makes his way over to his bureau, opening and peering into its vastness for a sign of her presence, then closes it gently and swivels to walk towards his desk.

The desk is one of the oldest things he owns, given to him by his father after graduating from university on Gallifrey. It is engraved with Gallifreyan markings all along the sides, bulbous circles of all sizes and internal symbols making their way up from the floor to the desk's surface. The important papers on top have been moved to the side and stacked together, and he frowns as he remembers just how old they are. It has been two, three regenerations since he used this piece of furniture-too sad to touch but too attached to move it. He sighs as he runs a finger along the top, rubbing his forefingers together as he confirms the lack of dust.

Still, there is no note or sign of her except for the kiss on the mirror and he realizes this makes him sad. He steadies his body against the desk as he feels gravity returning to his figure, his senses now fully active. After a few moments, he perks up and strides over to the end of his bed to put on his clothes.

He pulls each garment on with practiced ease, feeling like that night so long ago with little Amelia. Not quite finished yet, cooking, though completely corporeal and full of defined odds and angles.

He saunters over to the door leading out into the hallway until a piece of white paper catches his eye, lying forgotten in the bottom of the rubbish bin. He reaches down and picks it up, breaking out into a smile as he reads the discarded, scrawled message.

_For someone who is supposed to be a genius, you can be so stupid sometimes. x_

Laughing, he opens the door towards him and stops as he sees River standing a foot away, hand reaching for the doorknob. She quirks her mouth into a smile and pushes a curl behind her ear, then folds her arms in front of her chest in an action that seems almost defensive.

"Hello River," he says.

She looks down, strangely and faintly sheepish, then back up to him. "Hello, sweetie."

"I saw you cleaned up a bit." he pauses, waving awkwardly towards the inside of the room. "Thank you."

She brushes him aside and walks into the room, remembering to close the door behind her. Making her way over to the newly-made rocking chair, she sits with a thud and clasps her hands over her lap. "Don't mention it," she replies, with genuine meaning behind her response.

He moves to sit on the bed, scratching the back of his neck, and faces her. "How did you know?"

"I always know," she says simply.

The pursing of her lips tells him that conversation is over so he brings his hands down from his neck to his knees, resting them there.

"Well, thank you, River."

She smiles again but it is softer this time and he realizes there are remnants of fear in her eyes. Seeing him lying there on the brink of unconsciousness must have thoroughly terrified her, and suddenly he feels an overwhelming sense of guilt for frightening her so. He wants to reach out and fold River into a protective hug, but stays instead rooted to his spot.

"Repeating yourself, Doctor? Should I check again for concussion?"

Despite her teasing she leans back into her chair and rocks it the smallest bit, soothing nerves with the constant rolling motion.

"I'm all right, River. No need to worry about me."

She clicks her tongue and glances at him. "I always worry about you."

He can't help but let loose a small chuckle as he replies, remembering a conversation from so long ago. "Mutual."

She frowns and halts her rocking, leaning forward to better address him. "Next time you want to absorb an almost deathly amount of radiation, I'm not saving you."

At this, he laughs a hearty guffaw and stands up. He takes a few steps over to River and lifts her up, his hand held out in an offering for her to arise. She complies, and he wraps his arms around her in a gallant and grateful embrace; letting herself sigh against him as she burrows her nose into the crook of his shoulder and collarbone.

He grins into her shoulder as he holds her tightly, swinging them gently back and forth. "And you are so wrong."


	45. Run

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the writing, all rights to the BBC. No infringement or profit intended.

**Hello my loves, here's the next installment! I admit, two lines I stole from the webcomic: a softer world. See if you can spot it!**

**Thank you as always for all the support and I hope you guys keep giving me suggestions. Please read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Run-Snow Patrol<p>

_And I can barely look at you  
><em>_But every single time I do  
><em>_I know we'll make it anywhere  
><em>_Away from here._

_Light up, light up  
><em>_As if you have a choice,  
><em>_Even if you cannot hear my voice,  
><em>_I'll be right beside you dear._

_Louder, louder  
><em>_And we'll run for our lives._

* * *

><p>Her apartment is quiet, dark. The lights are casting shadows on the walls that remind her of what used to be home, and the imprint of prison resonates within her soul. This is the first time she's been back here since her arrest and it is disheartening to see how not much has changed.<p>

River knows she should be happy; overjoyed, really. She is out of Stormcage and parts of her past are behind her, but with the knowledge of the past comes the promise of the future. Or, in her case, lack thereof.

Last time she saw the Doctor, mere days ago, he had barely known who she was. She met her mother for the first time as River Song, prison inmate and murderer. There had been an army of weeping angels, universal disaster looming, and her bow-tie wearing lover who had scarce idea who she was. Then there was her pardon, the heart-wrenching goodbyes with the guards (who by now she knew intimately well), and an anti-climatic return to her apartment building. All in all, it had been an emotionally exhausting week.

She locks the door behind her but doesn't turn on the lights, dropping her utility belt on the small table she found, with the Doctor, at a flea market in the third Plutonian galaxy since the original. She feels the urge to smile at the memory but doesn't, her brain somehow not cooperating with her very own fading artificial sense of joy.

Walking into the flat, the rousing smell of dust attacks her nostrils and she sighs out of exhaustion, knowing she will need to clean it later. The wood creaks beneath her body weight and there are papers from who knows how long ago floating around the rooms, old letters to friends she never had the time to finish writing.

Her refrigerator is empty and the cereals look stale, and nothing is depressing her more than this sight of what used to be considered her home.

She drops all of her stuff at the foot of her bed, dials in a new passcode for her security system incase anyone figured it out while she was gone, and heads for her coat. She's going out tonight.

River trods down the flight of stairs and keeps her head ducked down as she exits the building, not wanting her neighbors to catch sight of her yet. The 51st century is extraordinarily accepting and open-minded, but she does not want to have to explain where she has been for the past nine months. Or was it five years? She can't remember anymore.

The ground is wet from a previous rain and she narrowly misses stepping in a large, muddy puddle with her shoes. She hasn't changed since her prison release and her trusty combat boots are stained with dirt from other nebulas, grass from an earlier century, and what might possibly be blood. She can't be sure.

River walks steadily with her head held high, hands in her pockets, and eyes alert as she avoids alleyways leading to bars. She's not in the mood to speak with anybody and she doesn't want to cause trouble, so she sticks to well-lit thoroughfares and the echoing symphony of the city playing around her.

With her mood so gloom and the surrounding world so dark, River's thoughts drift to the Doctor. She doesn't know how much longer she has with him and that troubles her. He doesn't know who she is anymore and their timelines have recently been incredibly in-synch with their tragic romance, back to front and love and loss.

There was a brief moment earlier in the day when she forgot, just for a second, the feel of his fingers on her waist and she almost broke into tears before taking a moment to reconvene with herself.

She misses him with all of her soul and her body aches if she thinks about their future too much, so she shakes her head to distract her from her own thoughts. It seems that tonight she can't escape them so she heads home, heart in her stomach, consolation anywhere but near.

When she makes it to the door of her apartment she puts the key in the lock, only to realize the door is slightly ajar. After plenty of time in prison River knows she compulsively locks any door, and the dead-lock seal on her apartment should have kept anyone away. Her chest thickens and fear grips her body as she pushes the door open with two fingers, one hand firm on her gun.

The lights are still off but there is a whistling noise, and she realizes a window has been opened. Closing the door silently behind her, she turns for a second and the lights flare on.

Her whole body tightens as she glances around, her mouth dropping so low she swears it could reach the floor. Her entire apartment has been cleaned and organized, neat and cozy and newly inviting. On the center table there is a fresh bouquet of the rarest blue roses on this side of the universe, tied together with a red bow and a small, folded note.

_Welcome home_.

She smiles as she reads the note, drawing it up to press it against her left heart before dropping it to the table. Remembering the open window, she moves deftly around the apartment to see her bedroom window open, curtains billowing out to lead to the emergency staircase.

Taking off her heavier outerwear and shrugging aside her third gun, she places two hands on the sides of the casement and edges her way out. Standing there, his back leaning casually against the brick of the building, the Doctor is smiling at her like the cat that got the cream.

She lets out a sound of disbelief and crosses her arms, too pleased to see him to actually be angry.

"Good evening, Professor," he grins.

She cocks an eyebrow at him but can't contain her smile, taking a step towards him. "And to you, Doctor."

He turns on his side and faces her, one arm held above his head to steady himself. He looks tired and a little thinner than usual, his red-striped shirt just the smallest bit baggy.

"How old are you?" she questions, because she doesn't feel like going back in to get her diary.

He pauses, features pained. "1100 or so."

She checks hims over again then lets out a breath of relief, glad of the time between them. "Good."

"How have you been?" he asks, exhaustion and care dripping in his voice. It's an honest question but seems so, so sad. It sounds like a goodbye.

She frowns, her forehead furrowing in worry. "I'm alright."

"Yeah?"

"And yourself?"

It takes him a moment before answering and she figures he is deciding whether or not to lie, and she is glad when he chooses not to. "I'm tired."

She laughs, a short, melancholy laugh. "Me too."

He gives her one of those smiles, the ones where the corners of his mouth upturn but his eyes speak of age and disappointment. There is a moment's pause and suddenly River realizes that although he cleaned her house and showed up to welcome her back, this is a visit for him.

"I have an idea," she says.

He looks her up and down, fighting to keep a smile on his face. "What's that?"

She walks over to him and brushes her hand down the lapels of his jacket, smoothing the creases. She lifts a hand up to brush his hair away, tucking it behind his ear, and grazes his cheekbones with her fingertips. "We could spend some time here, the two of us. Read, or drink tea. Tonight's as good a night as any."

She doesn't want to do this but doesn't let on, waiting for a reaction. River wants more than anything to escape her apartment, leave behind this microcosmic time capsule of her life before prison. But what she wants even more than that is to be with him, and she waits and watches as his features don't change, a sign for her to continue.

A smile finds its way onto her face as she speaks. "Or we could run."

The look on his face then is so precious she wishes she had a camera in her mind so she could remember it forever. For a moment, an ephemeral, joyous moment, the wrinkles in his face disappear and a smile forms on his lips as his face screams an affirmation.

She takes his hand in hers and squeezes it, grinning up at him. "After all, this town isn't big enough for the both of us," she muses.

He laughs, pulling her into a hug.

She tightens her grip on him and whispers into his shoulder. "So let's run away together."


	46. Phoenix Burn

Disclaimer: All rights belong to the BBC, I own nothing but the writing.

**Here's a longer chapter and it is quite dense so I hope you enjoy it, 'cause I like how it has turned out.**

**PLEASE give me some suggestions, I've got some in the works but I'd love some ideas from you!**

**Thank you as always and please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Phoenix Burn-Alpha Rev<p>

_I've taken too much, given up.  
><em>_I am twisted, burnin', breaking up.  
><em>_I need to find a way of letting it go  
><em>_When everything falls apart._

_I could try, but I'd never take it:  
><em>_Yell and I will never be heard.  
><em>_You will be my phoenix burn._

* * *

><p>There are lights and sirens and screams. Darkness polluted by sudden shrieks of gunshots and laser-beams and the thud of flesh hitting the ground, and River knows there is still so far to go.<p>

It's the forty-third century at the height of renewed trench and combat warfare and this war has been going on for five and a half decades. This is among one of the longest wars in history, and she knew that coming to the outskirts of the battlefield for an archaeological dig. But she was also brave and didn't care, and considered the war a minor inconvenience. She was wrong.

River crouches behind the remnants of a fallen building, swept up in the tumult and moved fifty yards from its original foundation. She is re-loading three of her four guns, re-adjusting the grenade on her belt, and tying her hair back into a ponytail. She sighs, frustrated, the war now a terrible hassle. She was on the brink of a new discovery just about the same time native troopers stormed her camp, and four of her twelve assistants were drafted into the military. The other eight were lucky enough to be from off-planet and weren't, and she had teleported all but two off the planet and back home.

Unfortunately, those two weren't as lucky.

In the matter of under two hours, she had lost two members of her team to their stupidity and this planet's bloodlust. She would mourn them later, she knew, but right now there are soldiers from both sides shooting around her and she needs to get somewhere safe.

After making sure all her weaponry is concealed and firmly fastened, she ducks out of her hiding place and into a new one, narrowly missing a flash of green light. Shouts let her know she was seen, so she takes a breath and counts to three before standing up and firing. Six shots, that's all it takes, and six people fall to the ground, dead.

She drops back to the ground and closes her eyes, trying to force death into the back of her mind. She ignores the thought that bubbles up, the image of her parents reprimanding her for this warfare, and the Doctor looking sadly across at her with eyes that have seen too much.

Shrugging away the tainted almost-memories, she rolls on her side into a new position on the ground, her now vantage point a small crack between bricks. She nudges the bricks aside with the nose of her gun and peers through the hole, boots and webbed feet passing by as quickly as they can. When she spots one pair of boots heading straight for her, she fires. There is another scream in the air and the sound of a body careening to the dirt, and then she fires twice more and the figure is lifeless.

She realizes now her arms are shaking so she holds them still, closing her eyes for a moment to heighten her hearing. Calming her body down, she listens to the thud of feet and bloodcurdling screams. Her chest tightens and she fights away tears, then ignores the oncoming sadness and continues to battle for a different shielded area.

This pattern soldiers on for about an hour, ducking and shooting and moving and sighing, until she reaches the forest of the planet. This is where the fighting came from earlier so she knows the only people here now will be scared, frightened boys pretending to be men. There is nothing here to worry about.

She strolls through the forest and holds back a sigh, glancing around at all the distress. There are scorch marks on the trees, trampled grass and leaves, and a few scattered bodies left here in the wake of battle.

Bending down, she flips one body over and sees the face of one so young, so young. A tear escapes her eyes and falls onto his nose, cold and lifeless. His eyes are still open in shock and she waves a hand over them to close them, offering the boy some kind of remorse in death.

She catches her breath, stands up, and walks on.

As she nears the edge of the forest, she sees a city burning. Skyscraper upon skyscraper and trenched-out streets mark the city into a grid of slaughter, voices of the very young crying out into the humid night air. She can pick apart each individual cry and knows the age of the voice, and if she listens for much longer she knows she will break so she blocks out sound and just looks.

The lights are out in almost every building but fire blazes throughout the city, lighting up the war-torn streets in a bittersweet beautiful glaze. She imagines the crackling and splattering signs tearing off in the wind, the children using corpses as shields, and the lack of hope breathing in the atmosphere.

She can't take the sight of it anymore and knows she must interfere, if only a little, and she trudges down the pathway leading from the forest as she begins a search for one child. If she can save one child, one orphan, then she can leave this place in peace.

Once in the city, it is worse than she ever could have thought. There are few civilians left alive and even fewer uninjured ones, and she looks around for someone to save. She closes her eyes and listens, hearing a faint, almost inaudible cry from the building to her left.

She tears through the burning house and into what used to be a living room, in hot pursuit of the fading scream. She dodges falling paintings and burning flecks of wallpaper to climb up the frail staircase, creaking and breaking beneath her feet. She rounds a corner and hears a pounding against wood, turns, and breaks open the lock with her fist.

The door swings open and there is a small child, brown curly hair matted and barely clinging to life. Smoke pours out of the closet and the child coughs incessantly, tears streaming from her eyes but no sound being released anymore. Her tears are silent because she just can't stop, and River's hearts break for the girl whose childhood was stolen away from her. She looks and sees herself, and grabs the child up in her arms before bolting out the door.

In the streets it is less smoky, and she whispers noncommittal words of safety into the child's ear. The child isn't fighting her and she is glad, and she absentmindedly strokes her back with her free hand. River ponders asking about the child's parents but the look in her eyes tells her there is nothing to be said.

Scouring the streets for the easiest way out, she remembers her vortex manipulator and looks to her wrist. The screen is burnt out and River realizes it must have broken on one of her rolls, and the feeling of dread drops into the pit of her stomach. There is no way out.

But then, so far away she thinks it's a mirage, a man is holding a child and waving a green light around him. Hope replaces dread and she starts running towards him, the girl's tears streaming softly in the wind. The man turns and sees her and breaks out into a sprint, clinging desperately to his child and the flashing green light.

Now meters away, River can see the outline of a red bow-tie and laughs, pure disbelief rippling through her body. She runs to him and they stop, awkward, suddenly realizing they cannot hug each other with the children in their arms. They look into each other's eyes and laugh, smiling giddily out of the sheer impossibility of it all. The girl in River's hold rubs her eyes, squinting over at the little boy and braves a small smile.

He returns it, and River and the Doctor cannot contain the love that bursts forth from their chests. River is struck suddenly with the image of a life they could have lived, each caressing a child as they protect them from the fire and lifelessness surrounding them. But then she remembers they are in the middle of a war and a burning city, and she recalls why that is a life they should never have.

With one quick glance to his eyes she knows he is thinking the same, and to prevent either of them from breaking down right then she speaks, her voice hoarse. "Where's the TARDIS?"

In a matter of minutes they are in the blue box, hurtling away from the only place the children know as home. Then the Doctor is giving them each a shot for their health, they are holding the kids as they drift into unconsciousness, and River and the Doctor are rocking them to sleep in their arms as they lay them in a newly discovered child's room.

Once each child is completely tucked in under their covers and the lights are off, River and the Doctor stand next to each other in the doorway, staring softly at the innocent, breathing bodies.

River looks up at him, exhausted, but with eyes so full of life he can't help but smile back. She takes his hand and they turn away from the room, her leading him to the library. There, they sit tangled up in a big, rustic chair with the soft sound of jazz playing in the background.

After their long, tiring day there are almost no words between them, but somehow they manage to find them.

"What's her name?" he asks, staring off into the crackling fire.

River looks at the way his hair flops down over his eyes and smiles, easily forgetting the warfare of the day. "I don't know," she says.

He smiles sadly and meets her gaze. "I don't know his either."

"When was the last time there was a child onboard?"

The Doctor looks lost for a moment, not sad exactly, just like a tiny little boy in a big supermarket without his mother. There is no fear or dread in his eyes, but there is loss.

"A long, long time ago."

She leans up and kisses him lightly on the cheek. "Doctor, I..." she trails off.

He looks down at her from his height in this position and smiles, pressing a small kiss to her hair. "I know," he says. "Me too."

And then before either of them knows what is happening they are falling off the chair together, kissing and tugging and stroking and gripping, trying to forget their small encounter with the life they never had and the dreams they don't dare to dream. They are losing themselves in the other and blocking out the memory of standing in a doorway, watching two sleeping children count sheep, and the littering of toys balancing out the room.

They cry silently tonight as they make love, clinging together in a desperate attempt to abandon the intimacies of a family they should never have.


	47. Some Unholy War

Disclaimer: All rights to the BBC, I own nothing but the writing.

**Here is a short, fun chapter to hold you over until better-written ones. I've started school again so daily updates are out of the question (unless we're super lucky), and so the ones I do post from now on I will try to make better to soften the lack of constant updates.**

**Thank you as always, especially for the reviews on the last chapter-I'm so glad you all enjoyed it! Please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Some Unholy War-Amy Winehouse<p>

_If my man was fighting  
><em>_Some unholy war,  
><em>_I would be behind him,  
><em>_Straight shook up beside him  
><em>_With strength he didn't know.  
><em>_It's you I'm fighting for.  
><em>_He can't lose with me in tow,  
><em>_I refuse to let him go,  
><em>_At his side and drunk on pride  
><em>_We wait for the blow._

* * *

><p>She looks at him with the eyes of an experienced lover and he looks back with the mixed gaze of clumsy adolescent lust and fear. <em>It's better than nothing<em>, she thinks. Or, at least, that is what she tells herself.

It's a fierce battle to keep the smile plastered on her face but she wins, because she always does when it is the Doctor involved. She keeps the smile for him because he needs to see it, when there is so much sadness in the world and in her heart. She has always smiled for him, like she does now, like she always will.

Standing beside him, her ears pick up the thumping in his chest as his hearts work overtime to pump blood throughout his body, keeping him alive on pure adrenaline. It's the familiar face-off with baddy-of-the-week, and the Doctor's hands are in his pockets as he rambles on about things that don't have any correlation to the situation but are actually incredibly relevant after all. This baddy seems to be particularly interested in what _'the oncoming storm'_ has to say and has been giving him his undivided attention, long enough now for River to have reset the security codes of every room, gun case, and communications array.

Besides one sly glimpse at her nimble fingers typing in mathematical sequences far too complicated for the average native of this planet, the Doctor has not let on that she is up to something. The alien in question is too daft, engrossed, and thick to have noticed anything.

She softens a smile and drops her hand to her hip, the deed done. Shifting a quick glance to the Doctor, his shoulders straighten and she knows he's seen her. As she takes a step back towards the door, she arches her eyebrows at the alien who has now broken out into a smile. He's staring straight at her and it's giving her the creeps until she takes another step and is brought into a dense headlock, her air supply suddenly fading.

The Doctor is paralyzed for a moment as he assesses the situation, wanting to be of help but knowing she can handle it herself, then decides to run towards the door as River flips the guard onto his back.

Before the Doctor can protest she steps on the man's chest and whips out her gun, aims it, and speaks in a tone far too threatening for her pretty lips. "Come after us and I'll shoot."

The man nods furiously and she smiles before tucking her gun away again and scooting to the door. As she takes the Doctor's hand in hers there are shouts from behind them, so she flashes him a grin and they take off.

Running together, she thinks, is possibly the most beautiful thing they do. She loves the familiar mold their hands make and the way their fingers interlock without any hesitation, despite the age and experience difference. She loves how he subconsciously strokes the skin between her thumb and forefinger as they run, a shielded desire for intimacy he cannot hide.

The rush of wind in her hair and bad guys on her heels and his hand in hers sends her floating above the stars, her feet and legs weightless as they carry her onwards through a lengthy maze of corridors. Silvery metal passes her by as she flies, traction and friction working with the laws of physics to keep her strong and bold on her toes. There is shouting behind her but to it she is deaf, hearing only the panting of her lover and the smack of wind as she runs into it. When she runs with him, the universe is theirs and the stars and planets bend to their will; not that he'd ever admit that. But, she knows, he can feel it too.

They run and run and run and finally lose the following men, then they run some more until they hit a dead end. The end of the corridor stands before them, metal walls high as a cathedral lifting to a domed ceiling, no windows surrounding them, with five more minutes until the building is set to blow up. By now, the guards are three minutes away from reaching them and the TARDIS is on the other side of the building's schematics, and attempting to reach it is not a plausible feat.

The Doctor looks panicked and rubs the walls with his fingers, tracing circles and impossible diagrams on the cool, silky frame. He stops suddenly and looks at her, pleading for help. She picks a gun out of her belt and his hands shoot up to hold her own, his eyes giving her a disapproving and angry glare.

She leans forward on her tip-toes and presses a soft kiss to his cheek, whispering in his ear. "Do you trust me?"

He freezes, unsure, until finally relenting and releasing her hands for her to turn deftly on the spot and shoot straight through the wall. A large, perfect square appears and he smiles as wide as the moon as they climb through it, their escape and means of survival.

She takes his hand again as they run, but this time he squeezes hers; she knows he is thankful.

Together, they are indestructible and undefinable, ignoring the laws of Time and Space to do whatever they please. They are forever laughing and living and _running_, through all that has ever existed, does exist, or will. They are the universe, and thus, consequently, will never stop running from it.


	48. Innocent

Disclaimer: SO tedious. All rights to the BBC, I own nothing but the writing.

**Hello my darlings! This song was suggested by 'CountryGrl' and I'm sorry it took me so long to fill it, but I didn't have the right idea to accompany it until today. So here you go!**

**Thank you as always for the reviews and suggestions and please send me more! Your reviews fill my day with smiles. Please continue, as usual, to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Innocent-Taylor Swift<p>

_Did some things you can't speak of  
><em>_But tonight you live it all again.  
><em>_You wouldn't be shattered on the floor now  
><em>_If only you had seen what you know now then._

_Wasn't it easier in your firefly catching days,  
><em>_When everything out of reach someone bigger brought down to you?  
><em>_Wasn't it beautiful running wild 'til you fell asleep  
><em>_Before the monsters caught up to you?_

_It's alright, just wait and see:  
><em>_Your string of lights is still bright to me.  
><em>_Oh, who you are is not where you've been,  
><em>_You're still an innocent._

* * *

><p>There is never a dull moment with River Song, and that is why he loves her. Sometimes, though, the Doctor forgets that that probably isn't a good thing. Dull is bad, very bad, it's true; but dangerous and close-to-death and heart-wrenching are not any better, and those are prevalent themes in their relationship more often than he likes to admit.<p>

Take right now, for instance. At the moment, River is lying in a curled heap on the kitchen floor, a wine glass shattered and cast aside on her left. Her arms are covering her face from his view, no doubt to shield her tears from his prying eyes. She is an emotional wreck, and the superhero he knows so well has faded into a heart-broken shell of a woman. There is nothing he can do to console her when she gets in moods like this, but he can't tear himself away so he stands next to her, hands shifting awkwardly in his pockets. He is used to crying companions but those weepy girls are nothing compared to this despaired, ghost woman.

And for once in his life, he is at a loss for words.

He does not even have a clear grasp on why she is crying, just that she is, and for that reason he is powerless. He wants to help her, but is too afraid to worsen her state by his lack of knowledge and experience. She is everything to him and as she cries his world shatters around him, carefully-placed emotional walls crumbling into nothingness.

The tendrils of their time together weave around him, reminding him that he loves her more than anything. With that knowledge, he is quietly as broken as she is, and fear grips him as he lacks any sort of cohesive plan to escape or run away from the crying woman on the floor. Loving someone is truly terrifying, and sometimes he wishes he could forget that.

She heaves a heavy breath before sitting up suddenly, scrambling to an upright position to seem perfectly okay. He sees clear through her façade and takes a step towards her, bending down to close the distance between them.

As he reaches a hand out to caress her face she backs away sharply, ringlets and tears falling into her line of sight. Her lips are quivering and he wants to take them roughly with his, tug her tightly against his chest and never let her go, but sense holds him back as he watches her watch him with an expression so damaged that not even he can fix.

"River."

The name is pulled forth from his lips without his consent, as if the word is too precious and important _not_ to be said.

She diverts her gaze from his as she crumples back to the floor, coiling herself into a round ball. The kitchen tiles are cool against her heated skin and are the only things providing her with comfort.

"Don't run from me, River. _Please_." He is pleading now without even trying, down on his knees and hands hovering over her back. He gently places them on her shivering figure and she softens to his touch, his chest releasing a taut lump he didn't realize had been there.

She shakes underneath his feather-light fingertips, so subtly he isn't even sure she is aware of what her body is doing.

"I know it's hard," he whispers, attempting to find words for the situation; this was going to be improvised but entirely heartfelt. "Trust me, River. I do."

Her jerks and convulsions are slowly dwindling away, a non-verbal signal of her relenting.

"Being so unique in the universe, like we are, is the most splendid, awful thing to experience. It means we are spectacular without having to try, but also terribly, terribly alone. And that hurts."

She tenses again, her hands closing to fists and her toes curling in all their bare glory. Her body tightens and there is stress in each of her limbs, a pulsing tension flaring under her skin. She cannot hide from it and for once she doesn't try to.

"But you don't have to be alone. We can be alone together."

And then she breaks, the floodgates opening again as tears find their home on her cheeks and in her hair and down to her shirt. She bursts up and flings herself into his frame, causing him to stumble and hit the floor with his back. She is outstretched atop him and he gathers her shaking figure up in his arms, soothing her as he strokes Gallifreyan love poems onto her back. He clambers up into a sitting position with her collapsed in his lap, her hands gripping the collar of his shirt to hold her up.

Her tears soak into his shoulder, the two of her hearts pounding wildly against his chest, and her knees are drawn up under her chin as she disregards any attempt to be calm. He doesn't relent in his hold, firmly rocking River in place as she stumbles over closure.

"Oh River, _my_ River. I can promise you that you will never, ever be alone."

She snorts against him and murmurs into the creases of his shirt. "No, you can't."

He is shocked speechless and nearly laughs aloud, his breath caught in the back of his throat. She pushes herself away from him to look at his face before bursting into a small fit of giggles, eyes still watery with tears. Her chuckling turns to a thick dose of laughter, her chest heaving as it tries to contain the smiles spilling from her lips. She is laughing so hard teardrops are streaming down her face, and soon she is on the floor again, convulsing against the cool tiles in a fit of happiness.

His concerned expression has changed to a complacent, satisfied mask and he sweeps her into his arms as his fingers tickle her sides and hold her firmly in his grip. She shudders around him and fights viciously, still laughing, trying to break free of his grasp. She finally elbows him in the stomach and he lets go, allowing her enough time to climb out of his lap and crawl into a cross-legged position on the floor.

She wipes the tears from her eyes with the palm of her wrist, clearing away soaked-through mascara from salt-stained cheeks.

He mimics her stance and positions himself directly across from her, elbows behind him and used as a perch. He looks at her with a depraved smile, smug and self-congratulatory in countenance.

"Oh, shut up," she chokes out. Her breath is still caught on her laughter, her breathing not yet even. "You don't have to look so smug about it."

He allows himself to laugh now, pulling his arms up to fold over in his lap. "I think I do, actually. No, wait, hold on...I definitely do."

She leans forward and swipes his shoulder with a quick, curt smack. His upper body jumps away at the contact, not deft enough to dodge her blow. His hand rises to clutch at the shoulder of his tweed, the hit smarting. Pouting, he looks so incredibly out-of-place she can't help but smile, which only causes his eyes to gleam with a self-satisfied look of approval.

"I hate you sometimes." she gasps out, still a bit breathless.

He crawls towards her, hands and elbows taut against the floor to prop him up in front of her. He moves his lips to the left side of her face, angling his chin to the right. She doesn't move towards him but doesn't back away, hot gulps of air still regulating her breathing. His lips come close enough to hers to touch, but don't, waiting for some kind of reaction.

River flutters her eyelashes a bit, unknowingly seducing him, lightly opening and closing her mouth. All he can focus on anymore is the shape of her lips and then he forgets his pretense and kisses her, wrapping his upper lip over hers and pressing a sweet, tender kiss to her dry mouth.

Her hands fly up to hold his face, shifting his angle slightly more to the right, and the brown mess of the Doctor's hair flops down into their faces, tangling in between them.

She smiles against his kiss and he smiles back, and then they are deepening the kiss with happy tongues and plump lips. He drags his legs up from behind him to chain himself more to the floor, then releases his hands from their stretched stance on the ground to wrap around her back.

The Doctor is kneeling in front of her cross-legged figure, bundling her up in his arms, her fingertips skating lightly across the contours of his face as his neck arches downwards to provide him with a comfortable kiss. His hands make their way up her back into her hair, pulling her closer, and then their gentle embrace falls away to an animalistic hunger; he draws in her with his lips as River holds him in a trance with her touch.

Breaking suddenly, he places a soft kiss on her neck and nibbles as he whispers into her skin. "No, you really don't."


	49. Haven't Met You Yet

Disclaimer: Nothing, nothing, all characters and rights owned by the BBC.

**What did everyone think of last night's episode? I really enjoyed the science-fiction aspect of it, I've sorely missed the nerdy little sci-fi episodes. This song was suggested by 'ElphieUpland' and I'm sorry it took so long to update for, but here is a nice, good bit of fluff for all the oddities recently.**

**Honestly, I love your prompts and song suggestions more than anything-send them to meeeee. As always, thank you for your ideas and sweet, sweet reviews! Please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Haven't Met You Yet-Michael Bublé<p>

_They say all's fair in love and war  
><em>_But I won't need to fight it,  
><em>_We'll get right  
><em>_And we'll be united._

_And I know that we can be so amazing  
><em>_And being in your life is gonna change me,  
><em>_And now I can see every single possibility._

* * *

><p>There was sand in-between her toes and underneath her shorts and possibly ingrained somewhere in her scalp, but she didn't mind; not when there was sunlight bouncing off the ocean's surface and the comforting warmth of heated wood beneath her.<p>

Her feet dangled effortlessly off the pier, just barely gracing the tips of cerulean waves. Each one came with the soothing sound of crashing against the dock then retreating, wearing away at the indestructible entity on which she was resting. The Doctor lazed casually beside her, half his body hanging off the pier and the other half flat and taut against the wooden planks. He held one arm up to shield his view from the direct sunlight, the top of his head nuzzled comfortably in the darkened crook of his elbow.

A soft smile found its way to her lips and into her eyes, her features entirely relaxed as she enjoyed the beautiful summer weather.

It smelled like the barbecue from further down on the beach; crisp glaze and crunching, blackened coating drifting with the breeze and into their noses. Shrieks of childish laughter and hearty voices sounded in the distance, the rumblings of happiness not far of from their place on the dock.

The book he was reading had been cast aside them a half hour or so before, left forgotten in the wake of his decision to doze. He had taken off his tweed and rolled up his sleeves, his boots placed carelessly beside them on the wooden platform. The fact that he had rolled up his pants to his knees surprised her, this being one of a rare few times he dressed so carelessly. The Doctor liked to look good, and they both knew it.

Growing increasingly more bored with their lack of conversation, she decided to lay down next to him. Turning on her side, River faced the Doctor and lightly stroked his elbow, causing him to stir and squint his eyes to focus in on her face.

"Good morning, sweetie," she piped up.

He blinked unhurriedly, drowsy in the summer sun. "I wasn't sleeping."

"No?"

He moved his arm down lower onto his stomach, his cool, shaded fingers coming down to rest on his warm shirt. He circled one button absentmindedly as he replied. "Not really my thing, no. Too much to do in a day to ever _sleep_."

"Is that so?" She fanned her arm out in front of her body, supporting her head on the juncture of her shoulder and bicep. "I'm rather fond of sleep, actually."

"You're _'rather fond'_ of a lot of things, I think." he quipped, mimicking her in a low voice accompanied by a slight head-shake.

"Feeling cheeky, are we?" she grinned, laughing gently as a rogue curl fell into her face, obstructing her view. She swatted his hand away as she pushed it behind her ear, determined to keep him from tugging it. He pouted and she laughed again, louder and bolder this time.

He couldn't keep from smiling in return, now leaning forward to prop himself up on his elbows. Maneuvering his visage to the right, he gazed down at her and blocked the sun's direct rays with his head. "Shall we be moving on, then?"

She felt a familiar smirk rise onto her mouth as she responded. "I _was_ promised gelato."

* * *

><p>Half an hour later they were stumbling down the street, holding their sides with one arm each to keep from doubling over in laughter. River tried to find some way around her giggling to lick at the gelato, but his incessant snorting kept her attempts unsuccessful. He twirled quickly and plopped down on a bench in a huff, still breathless and smiling madly. She sat down beside him, careful to keep her treat from dripping onto her legs, angling her body so she could face him easily without having to worry about sticky drops.<p>

It took her a few moments to form a cohesive sentence, sides aching from laughter. "You're the most ridiculous man I've ever met," she breathed out.

"Thank you," he beamed.

She flicked his shoulder with two of her fingers. "Not a compliment," she teased.

His face changed suddenly to mock-offended, straightening his shoulders and furrowing his brow. "And you're sure about that?"

"Oh, shut up."

He took another sweep of gelato with his tongue, cautious of the path left on the top of his cone. He licked it again and again until there was a perfect, tiny curl at the tip. Satisfied, he glanced back at River who was eyeing him with heavy lids and pursed red lips. "What?"

"I'm just thinking of other fun things we can do with your tongue, is all."

His jaw dropped down in shock and he stared at her, mouth agape with incredulity. He watched as she let loose a low, throaty chuckle and drew the cone up to her lips tentatively. She took a long, open taste of her sticky treat and glanced up at him, a look all-too innocent for her face.

"_River_-"

"Eager, my love?"

He gulped and straightened up, tugging on his bow-tie in an awkward attempt at adjustment. "If I said I was _eager_ then I'd be admitting to wanting to have or be doing something very much and even if I am, I don't know that-oh hey look! See that shop over there? That's some very classic architecture, designed around the 40's in the post-war effort to create jobs. That is a beautiful, beautiful building. Don't you think? It's amazing to think about really, all the effort that goes into a single shop. One that isn't even inhabited by the same thing for long, nonetheless! Honestly, it's-what?"

"Oh, nothing," she sighed. "You're just rambling."

"Am I? I tend to do that sometimes. Though I guess you would know, wouldn't you?"

She scooted closer to him on the bench and leaned in, gazing directly into his eyes. "Yes," she said matter-of-factly but somehow seductively, her voice deep.

The Doctor gulped again, throat dry, and eyed her carefully. "Is there something on your mind, River?"

She laughed and dropped her lips to his neck, leaving a small, bright red imprint in its wake. Then as quickly as she had come, River stood up and started walking down the boardwalk. It took him a moment to both assess the situation and calm his body down before taking off after her, forgetting his gelato on the curb.

"You, what, River! Where are you going?"

His calls fell on deaf ears as he raced after her, knocking into more than one pedestrian on occasion.

"River!"

When he finally caught up to her she was about to cross a street, checking both ways before heading into oncoming traffic.

"What was that?" the Doctor was breathless from chasing her, one hand on his chest to steady his drumbeat of four.

She smiled, cocking an eyebrow in his direction. "Just wanted to see if you would follow."

Not for the first time that day, the Doctor's mouth dropped as he glared at her with disbelief. "You're utterly, completely, one-hundred and ten percent impossible."

"No, my love," she corrected. "Just improbable."

He licked his lips in an effort to look displeased but instead ended up awkwardly swiping his tongue about, sticky spots from the gelato placed around his mouth. "I do believe that in nearly a millennia of Time and Space I have never met, and will never meet, anyone more maddening than you."

Laughing, she licked her thumb and wiped it at the corner of his mouth, her finger scrubbing away at some smudge of drippy treat. "I'll take that as a compliment."

He pushed her hand away and scooped her into his arms, pressing tiny kisses to her now-crinkled nose. "Oh, it was."


	50. Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?

Disclaimer: All rights to the BBC, I own nothing but the writing.

**Here's the next chapter! Thank you for the kind words and all the wonderful suggestions-I really appreciate it. Also, I'd LOVE for you guys to send me things you want to read; not just songs, but prompts or scene ideas.**

**Please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?-Amy Winehouse<p>

_Tonight with words unspoken  
><em>_You say that I'm the only one,  
><em>_But will my heart be broken  
><em>_When the night meets the morning sun?_

_I'd like to know that your love  
><em>_Is love I can be sure of;  
><em>_So tell me now, and I won't ask again:  
><em>_Will you still love me tomorrow?_

* * *

><p>River Song is, and always has been, a very forward person. She supposes it comes from her past life as a psychopath or possibly even the genetic coding from her mother. Either way, it's not a choice but a lifestyle, one she wouldn't and couldn't change for anyone.<p>

With the Doctor, she is brash and domineering and boldly seductive, staking her claim to his almost-nonexistent romantic side. The Doctor rarely falls in love and she knows it, which means she feels the need to let him know it _all of the time_. And to both their knowledge, more often than not he enjoys it.

But these are early days for her, and she's realizing that loving someone like she does is scary. It's the core of fear and angst and worry but somehow she can't help doing it anyways, and she often wonders if this is going to be a new thing with her. Doing something dangerously stupid because of a little feeling in the pit of her stomach or the smile he gives her when he thinks she isn't looking; there are tokens of their love spread across the universe, she thinks. She would not want it any other way.

Despite her presumptuous and audacious manner, River Song has not bedded the Doctor yet but she has a feeling that somewhere in time, more specifically his, that she already has. It's all a bit timey-wimey.

Tonight, he's showed up with no sign of his ship except for a TARDIS blue mug filled with steaming hot tea. He's at her doorstep, hair in his eyes, his face stretched wide to accommodate the smile situated there.

River has had her fair share of men in her relatively long life, but she has always had a strong sense of her sexuality when in relation to them. She'll let them buy her a drink, pay for a few dates, maybe even kiss them unexpectedly just to keep their morale up. Like many women, River enjoys and understands the company of men. That said, there are fewer notches on her bedpost than most would assume, but not for lack of interest. There have been _plenty_ of suitors of all age and species knocking at her doorstep.

No, it is more that River respects her body (which is, after all, miraculous-human plus, eh?) and expects nothing less from any man she deems worthy. This combined with her 'come hither' appearance often makes for hilarity, one that River never tires of.

Tonight, though, she thinks their relationship is about to change drastically-not for the better or the worse, but change. Definitely, definitely change.

"Can I come in?"

He's smiling at her like a madman, as if to say 'look how romantic I'm being, I'm spontaneous and holding tea!' The floppy fringe is as endearing as ever and he's given the long, green coat a rest and is wearing his tweed. She knows this is because he feels comfortable with her and doesn't need to dress to impress her; she will adore him in whatever fashion atrocity he's picked up today.

She clicks her tongue in mock disapproval, sliding open the door further. "I suppose," she sighs.

He drops the tea in her hands and strides into the room, his legs carrying him in a mapped-out journey to the sofa. He sits there patiently and looks up at her, apparently waiting for her to join him. She makes her way over slowly, tentative but steady steps.

"When are we this time?" he asks, whipping out his blue journal. She peeks at it over his shoulder, eager not to read but to soak in the very fullness and wear of the book. It is a book full of promises.

She puts the cup down on a coaster then leans back into the couch. "Last time I saw you we stopped a sort-of-but-not-really zombie apocalypse. And you complained because you didn't get your slice of toast."

He shifts the book underneath him and turns to face her, grumbling. "I was _promised_ rye and butter."

She laughs, nudging him with her elbow. It's playful and flirtatious, and her stomach hums a bit when he slopes to her touch; almost as if it is too familiar to ever let go. "In all honesty, I'm fairly sure it would have been moldy by the time you got to it anyway."

"Hey! You try walking with bags tied on by rubber bands instead of shoes!"

"You could've gone barefoot."

He gives her an 'oh, please' look. "In the freezing-cold mud?"

She opens her mouth to reiterate, then shuts it. "Fair point."

He nods, settling back into the couch to now face her at eye-level. "Thank you."

There is silence for a moment before he leans in, demanding but reverent, and kisses her with lips much too soft to really be real. This is fine, they've done this before, and now she is reacting to him and kissing him back, scooting over on the couch to curve in beside him.

The Doctor places a slow, deliberate hand on her waist and she sighs into his touch, his grip growing firmer and surer as time progresses. She finds her way into his lap, clutching the back of his neck with her hands. River moves to straddle him, wrapping her legs around his too-thin waist as he holds hers with sensitive, driving fingers. Pushing him further into the couch, she leans forwards until their bodies are pressed firmly together.

With hesitant and courteous movements, his hands find their way to the hem of her shirt and he lifts it over her head slowly, so slowly. She kisses him deeper and presses them into the couch, his hands hot against the cool of her skin.

Her fingers entangle in his bow-tie as he shrugs off his jacket, leaving it to crumple beside them. Then the bottom of his shirt is being tugged out of his pants and it flying open, only slightly barred by the tautness of his suspenders.

In what seems all too short a time, off goes his shirt, suspenders, and shoes; his legs kicking underneath her to escape the combat boots of choice.

Skin striking skin, River soaks in the Doctor's embrace and melts, faltering only now. She pulls away from his lips, dragging his mouth towards her.

"Doctor, I need to tell you something."

He peppers kisses down her neck, nuzzling his nose in her hair. "What, now?"

"It's important."

The urgency in her voice causes him to pause and he looks up, eye-contact direct and precise. "What is it?"

The words are caught in her throat but she perseveres, swallowing heavily. "I-I've never done this before. Not with you."

His body freezes under her as he tightens, suddenly tense and cramped with uncertainty. A shadow flashes through his eyes for a moment, so quick she almost doesn't see it. Almost.

Something in her brain clicks and she realizes this will be his last chance to be with her like this, and then her heart is breaking for the man already breathing so broken in front of her. Unexpectedly, she thinks of the night sky and knows there are not enough stars in the universe to make up for that look of sadness on his face.

"Do you want to?"

It isn't what she is expecting and she glances down at him, tilting her head. "Of course. Are you sure you're ready for this right now?"

She isn't talking about the consummation of their relationship but more about the fact that this will be a first for her and a last for him. He gives her a sad, sad smile but continues.

"I'll never be ready to say goodbye to you, my River."

And then she can't stop herself from kissing him, needing the feel of her tongue against his and his hands on her body. She pulls away the smallest bit, her lips still brushing his.

"I promise tonight you won't have to."

She feels him smile and then they are kissing again, needier and more desperate, as if their mouths and grips are the only things keeping them from flying away.

"Can I ask you one thing, though?" she says, fervent in the moment of a breather.

He rests his forehead against her heaving chest and replies. "Anything, River."

She swallows. "Will you still love me tomorrow?"

He draws his gaze to meet hers, looking at her with so much intensity she feels it rumble through her bones.

"I will love you as long as somebody, somewhere, knows my name and as long as someone tells my story, which should be as long as the universe turns." he pauses. "To answer your question, I could not stop even if I tried."

The next time she kisses him she knows that from here, there is no turning back.


	51. The Funeral

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the writing, all rights belong to the BBC. No infringement or profit is intended.

**Hello my faithful readers! Here's the next installment and it's a sad one, but I promise I'll be mixing it up after this. I really hope you guys like it, it's got a strange tone-ish thing.**

**Thank you for all your suggestions and please read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>The Funeral-Band of Horses<p>

_I'm coming up only to show you down for,  
><em>_I'm coming up only to show you wrong  
><em>_To the outside, the dead leaves, they all blow.  
><em>_Before they died had trees to hang their hope,  
><em>_Ooh, ooh._

_At every occasion I'll be ready for the funeral,  
><em>_At every occasion once more is called the funeral.  
><em>_At every occasion I'm ready for the funeral,  
><em>_At every occasion one brilliant day funeral._

* * *

><p>The silence hangs in the air like a body on a tree, ethereally rhythmic in its abnormality. It is only one reminder of the little things he leaves behind when he's gone.<p>

There is a stack of dirty dishes in the sink from a month and half ago, collecting flies and grime as time passes by. A note with scrawled chicken scratch is still attached to the cereal cupboard, untouched and determinedly staying stuck. In the bathroom there is a knocked-over male's deodorant that she has yet to pick up, and red and white stripes poke out from under the bed whenever she bends down to pick up her socks; combined, they create a plethora of little possibilities she can't account for. Among other things, it reminds her that people drop out of the world sometimes.

She rolls over on the bed and is met with desperate, empty space, and the vacancy is a constant presence in her home.

When she sleeps, she dreams of galaxies and landscapes and the warmth of being in his arms but when awake, his smile clouds her vision each time she closes her eyes, even if just to blink. She cannot escape the loneliness.

There are too many memories in these old rooms, too many remembrances that shroud the clarity of her thoughts. Anywhere she is there is a reminder of his presence, or lack thereof, and the angst of her abandonment cannot be helped. She has never felt more alone than in these moments.

She kicks herself out of bed and stands up on shaky legs, still not used to the quiet stillness of her home. There is no snoring time lord in the bed or on the couch or doing something stupid in the kitchen, and the ghosts of her happy times drift around her as she walks, their grace clinging to her wake.

In the bathroom, she picks up her tube of lipstick and studies it closely before running it through slender fingers and putting it back down on the counter.

_Not today_, she thinks.

As she meanders through the rooms, shuffling about in a dream-like trance, she thinks dreams pictures the Doctor beside her. He is laughing at her inability to draw a straight line, chivalrously offering to massage her feet, and chasing her around the kitchen table. He is, was, maybe will be, possibly never has.

Time weaves in and through her flat, caressing dusty mirrors and dog-eared books. Essays written by her colleagues plague most of the surfaces, clouding the space with page upon page of ancient discovery and universal folklore. There are bookcases filled with books stolen from libraries all over this universe and even a few other ones, precious artifacts littering the tops of these wooden giants. Her shelves are thriving, bursting with life, and seem so out-of-place in this creaking shell of a home.

The shades are all pulled down over the windows but the sunlight shines through, illuminating the rooms with a blinding, airy glow. Surrounded with the ethereal lighting and crowded interior, she feels like an imprint of what she used to be and that hurts more than it should, wounding her pride.

River Song has never needed a man, but _good lord_ does she want the Doctor.

When she leans against the door-frame and closes her eyes, she sees death like a projector screen on the back of her eyelids. His death plays over and over again and she can't escape it, and all this time alone has led her to dark places now and then. When there is nothing left to dream of, she dreams of Utah.

It doesn't frighten her; no, there's a far worse day coming for her; but it chills her to the bone and sends tears to the corners of her eyes. She seeks comfort in solitude and finds only desolation, misery seeping into the very pores of her skin. Sadness has become a habit, now.

Her time is spent waiting; she waits for life to return, joy to come, him. She waits for the pain to stop, the memories to fade, her habits to fail her. She is always waiting and she feels like her mother and that thought is enough to make her laugh out loud, and before she knows what's happened she realizes that is the first time she has laughed in the last week.

Mornings, evenings, afternoons blend together into institutionalized survival. That is not what her life should be, and she hates the Doctor for turning her world upside down.

But she loves him for it, too.

On his deathbed she brought him to life, though she knows, in reality, it was the other way around. He whispered words to her across a generation, whispered promises and feelings and needs to someone so incredibly young. And he loved her even then, even when she could not.

Perhaps that is what brought her to herself in the first place; his love.

It sets her skin on fire and tingles in her veins, shooting prickling heat to the tips of her fingers and curling toes. His love courses through her like blood, much in the way that her life courses through him. When she kisses him, she can taste the Time of her regenerations building inside him-that taste is her consolation prize, and she will never never give it up willingly.

As she makes her way around the rooms, her house seems wrong without him. Her mind can't wrap around the fact that he isn't there, and the harsh pumping in her chest reminds her that her body misses him too. She aches for him in the dead of night, the evening dinners, and in the dawn of morning, such as now.

Morning has broken and so has she, so she goes to the study and sits in the chair beside the window.

It is ancient and the only thing she has retained from her childhood, though not exceptionally comfortable or stylish. It is an ordinary, fabric-lined wooden chair that used to rest beside the door to her room in the orphanage. She went back once, only once, and snatched it without a trace. It was something nobody would miss but it would be there to remind River of the days she forgets, a disillusioned memory of her past.

In the chair that holds her past, she takes the present to look out for the future. A hand on her cheek, her elbow on the casement, River Song looks out the window and waits for her Doctor.

Time passes by, and she is still waiting.


	52. Me & Mr Jones

Disclaimer: Own nothing, no profit.

**Well, there's been some good angst floating around I thought I'd spice it up a bit. This one is kind of long but there was no way to shorten, so here's a bit of a funny chapter and I hope you love it!**

**Thanks so much for the continued support-please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Me &amp; Mr. Jones-Amy Winehouse<p>

_Nobody stands in between me and my man,  
><em>_'Cos it's me and Mr Jones.  
><em>_What kind of fuckery are we? Nowadays you don't mean dick to me.  
><em>_I might let you make it up to me, who's playing saturday?_

* * *

><p>When River Song arrives on an isolated island destination, what she witnesses is largely unexpected.<p>

The Doctor's here (well of course he is, he's the one who sent her the coordinates, isn't he?) along with some new-to-her companion and a group of three stragglers following closely behind. He's ranting about something (isn't he always?) and one of his listeners is looking incredibly cross, brow furrowed and arms folded. The irritated one has the straightest stature and she's fairly sure he's the threesome's leader, most likely feeling undermined by the Doctor's inevitable authority. Besides, he keeps shifting his gaze to land on the young, pretty friend of the Doctor's who can't help but stare at the time lord with stars in her eyes.

River's seen that look before and knows it well.

She calls out his name from her place above them on the hill and he halts, surprised. It occurs to her that this Doctor is probably not the one who sent her these coordinates, and she sighs and brightens up all at once. If nothing else, it's time for an adventure!

She perks up and strides gallantly down to meet them on the path, arms at her side and gun on her waist. She notices his hair is longer than usual, unkempt, and the fringe is falling downwards into his face despite the hair gel he uses so excessively. The smile won't leave her face as she greets him with a single gunshot to the air, granting the once-ignorant people the knowledge of her presence.

The four people with the Doctor turn in surprise but he barely jumps; he is used to her entrances by now. He is smiling broadly back at her, his ambivalence having melted away, and River feels a little thrill shoot through her at his companion's disheartened smile.

"Hello, sweetie," she calls.

He waits until she is a yard or so away before replying, flattening the lapels of his jacket. "Hello, River."

She whips her book out from the knapsack on her waist which causes four out of five mouths to drop open, the large book encased in the impossibly tiny bag. She lifts it up and holds it like a Bible, her grasp firm but impossibly gentle. "Where are we for you?"

He nods, motioning to her hair, currently the color of fading autumn leaves. "Last time I saw you your hair was newly ginger. Plus, there was that whole Zygon encounter." he pauses. "The second one, I think."

She laughs, brushing her hair from her eyes. "Good. It's nice to meet up now and then with a more..._experienced_ you."

He blushes unmistakably but a shadow quickly crosses into his eyes. "You're that far down the line, then?"

The shadow that passed through his now covers hers, but only for a second. She is about to reply before she is boldly interrupted by the stout, red-faced man standing to the Doctor's left. "Who the bloody hell are you?"

The Doctor's friend has suddenly found her voice again as well, and tugs on the Doctor's jacket as she turns to River. "Doctor, you said there was no way to get off this island...how did she get on?"

River cocks her head at the Doctor with a quizzical glimmer in her eye. "I'm River Song, nice to meet you all. And what's this all about, my love? Having some transport issues?" She darts her eyes around, scoping for the big blue box. "Where's the wife?"

The large, brown eyes nearly bulge out of the young girl's head, stuttering madly to herself. "W-w-wife?"

The Doctor shrugs it off with a wave of his hand. "She means the TARDIS. And, well, it's quite possible the TARDIS has reacted to a temporal crack that splits the island in half, figuratively of course, and has flown off on auto-pilot into the vortex."

River clicks her tongue, shaking her head. "You _know_ how she hates auto-pilot. She'll give you hell tomorrow."

"Excuse me, can someone please explain what the ruddy hell is going on here?"

The Doctor seems to suddenly remember there are other people there and he glances down at River's wrist with a smile, turning back to his group of followers. "Right, yes, of course. Like she said, this is River Song, weren't you listening? Here to help, I should think." he pauses again, narrowing his eyes towards her. "You _are_ going to help us, aren't you?"

She yawns, glancing at her vortex manipulator in an attempt to mistake it for a watch. "I have a very busy day, sweetie. To just call me up for a quick rescue is so unlike you, anyways. We're having quite the role reversal, aren't we?"

He grins a little, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "That's not really what I asked."

"Ask something else, then."

After a prolonged period of not saying anything, the young girl pipes up and stands defensively between River and the Doctor. River has to work hard to keep an amused smirk off her face, arching her eyebrows back at her.

The girl sticks her hand out completely straight and a bit hostile, motioning for a shake. River just nods, a small smile on her lips, and the girl uncomfortably withdraws her hand. "I'm Annie."

"Hello, Annie. I gather you're a friend of the Doctor's?" her voice is too sweet, dripping with mock-friendliness.

The Doctor waves a dismissive hand towards River, stepping up to stand beside Annie. "Play nice, River."

She lets out a throaty chuckle, catching his eye in the process. "_Make_ me."

The skinny, brown-haired girl is staring at River's waist, eyeing her gun with a sort of terrified reverence. "Why've you got a gun?"

"For shooting people."

The curt, direct response is coated with harshness and River feels an apology make its way to her throat, so she smiles kindly at the girl before shoving the words back down.

"Not while I'm around," the Doctor chides. "There will be no gun-using-shooting-things when you're with me. Besides, you and that gun, you're attached at the hip." He smiles at his own joke.

"Jealous, my love?"

His eyes are hooded with something indescribable, just for a moment, and no one notices but River and Annie. River grins in something that resembles triumph as the girl looks on, aghast.

He continues on as if nothing has happened, walking over to River and sonicing her wrist. "So. You, us, vortex manipulator, TARDIS? Oh, did I mention the island will blow in about, say, three and a half minutes?"

She laughs before lifting her wrist to her chest, dialing on buttons, winking, and disappearing. The Doctor and the accompanying group stand, stunned. Speechless irritation and terror ripples throughout the crowd until the wheezing sound of the TARDIS appears from a couple of inches away from them; the door swings open and River has a hand on her hip, smirk on her lips, and an all-knowing look on her face.

"Didn't think I'd left, did you? Have a little faith."

The Doctor walks over to the doors, leaning his weight on the frame. "My bad, bad girl; you're awfully clever." He makes way to enter the TARDIS but is stopped by River's hand on his chest, holding him back.

"Ah ah ah," she chastises. "Not so easy."

The angry-faced man in the back of the group huffs in frustration, gesturing madly. "She's nabbed us a box. Great. We're about to be blown to pieces and she wants us to cramp inside a bloody box like a can of goddamned sardines."

River is about to reply before Annie whips around, disgust in her eyes. "For your information, you ignorant excuse of a man, this is a spaceship. Haven't you ever seen one before?"

The man stutters a "no," surprised at the girl's feistiness. She nods firmly, pointing at the box. "It's bigger on the inside. All the rage, now, aren't they? Or what planet are _you_ from?"

He mumbles an incoherent jumble of words and River laughs, grinning at the Doctor. "Oh, I like her."

Now it's River's turn and Annie whips back around, staring her down. "As for _you_, I don't know who the hell you think you are but this island is less than two minutes away from blowing up and I'd really love to get on that ship right about now. And the only thing standing in my way, it seems, is you. Now, I've seen things you wouldn't even imagine: stars exploding, armies of aliens just _running_ away, the most brilliant, beautiful things. I'm really not someone you want to mess with."

River's smirk has been replaced by an amused, impassive expression and she yawns. Holding up a finger to motion for "one minute," she finishes and returns back to face the girl.

"Oh, darling. You have no idea." The words are not spat out, but are soaked in seriousness and heavy with condescension. She taps the Doctor on the shoulder, who is now standing incredibly awkwardly in the doorway, squeezing himself up against the frame as if it could shield him from the women's gazes. He jerks acutely to her touch, moving to face her.

"Yes?"

"Pretty boy, in you go," she breathes out.

He lets out a grateful sigh and heads straight up to the console, dialing in coordinates. River motions for the rest of them to join him, and they file in one-by-one with Annie the last to enter. River stops her with a hand in the air, leans forward, and whispers something in the girl's ear.

She turns white as a ghost and nods mutely, walking slowly back into the TARDIS. River smiles happily and closes the door behind her, strolling up to stand next to the Doctor.

"All set, my love. Shall we?"

He gives her a sly, chiding look before pulling the lever and sending them off into the vortex.

Once the three passengers have been returned safe and sound to their homes and families, the Doctor, River, and Annie make their way slowly back to the TARDIS. Annie has grappled for and is clenching the Doctor's hand as they walk, the Doctor chatting happily and gesticulating with the other. The brown-haired girl laughs in all the right places, smiling up at him like he's the most brilliant thing she's ever seen. In all likeliness, he is.

River walks on the other side of him, arms hanging remotely by her side. She is content to just be next to him, the physical closeness creating a warm sense of an emotional one.

She opens the TARDIS doors with a snap of her fingers and looks back, just for a moment, as she enters through the doors. She catches Annie's confused, begrudging expression and the Doctor's proud one. He is beaming as she walks up to the console and sets up the scanner, properly piloting the old girl the way she wants to be piloted.

"Doctor, why can she fly the TARDIS?" Annie whispers, but not quiet enough for River not to hear.

The Doctor lets go of her hand to stand beside River, his body leaning against the console and facing outwards. "It's complicated," he says.

"And Doctor...or rather, River," she pauses. "Who are you?"

River laughs, surprised, and gives the Doctor a covetous smile before turning to answer the doe-eyed girl. "I already told you: River Song. Oh, well, I suppose I'm Doctor River Song if you want to be all proper about it. So Doctor Song, but River will do."

"That's an odd name." Her nose is crinkled in a mix of disbelief and distaste.

River eyes her carefully, pressing a particularly complex-looking button as does. "You think? Picked it out myself. But that's another story; a long, long story. I don't know, what do you think, Doctor?"

He strikes his head to attention, jerking to face her. "Now, River."

She keeps an innocent look on her face, eyes wide with mock-unworldliness. "I just want to know if you like my name."

Annie folds her arms over her chest, tapping her foot. It's easy to see she is not amused, and River enjoys it. Annie's pout is impressive, though, she'll give her that.

"I think it's a lovely name."

She flashes him a smile. "Oh I know you do."

Annie huffs in frustration and walks up to where the pair is standing, moving to position herself in front of the Doctor. "Still, doesn't tell me who you are. I know your name, fine. But who _are_ you?"

River smiles softly, now not condescending at all. This girl is just that-a girl, and her maternal instincts are overriding her semi-jealous ones. She wants to scoop her into a hug and take her under her wing, but instead she turns to the Doctor and looks to him for an escape. He coughs, then straightens up.

"Annie, could you do me a favor?"

Annie takes one long, lasting look at River before glancing at the Doctor. "Yeah?"

"Could you grab me and River a cup of tea? Do make one for yourself, too, Annie. Now that River's here for a visit, we might as well all have a nice chat. I'm sure River will answer any of your questions then."

The girl huffs again but her eyes glisten at the way he says her name, and she nods before swiveling on the spot and dashing off to the kitchen. Once she's gone, the Doctor wags a scolding finger at River.

"There's no need to be mean," he says.

She scoffs, lightly offended. "That's a bit rich, coming from you. You really shouldn't lead her on like that."

He stares at her, vexed. "I have absolutely no idea what you mean."

She rolls her eyes and glares until she realizes he's being serious, then gently places a hand on his shoulder. "The girl is head over heels for you, my love."

His mouth drops opens in shock and he shakes his head excessively. "Annie? No no no, you've the wrong idea. We're friends! I travel, she travels with me. In love with me? That's ridiculous. I scorn the notion."

"You're clueless," she sighs. She steps in front of him and wraps her hands behind his neck, toying with the curls from the nape of his hairline. The Doctor places his hands on her waist and scoots her closer to him, holding her tight. "I'm telling you, though, she's mad for you."

"I think you're just jealous," he mumbles.

She arches a brow at him, defensive. "Do you, now?"

He gulps sheepishly and presses a kiss to her neck, trying to save himself from digging any deeper. "You don't need to be, I'm not interested."

River laughs, throwing her head back and giving him her widest smile. "I'm not, and I know. You never could resist me."

He presses another kiss higher up on her neck, nearing the underside of her jaw. "It's not my fault you're so incredibly _sexy_." She laughs again, but this time they both feel the tremor shoot straight down to their cores, urgency replacing witty remarks.

"You charmer." she breathes out the accusation, his hands moving to play with the hem of her blouse. She tightens her hold on his neck and draws his lips to hers for one long, slow kiss.

He grins. "I know you are but what am I?"

She swats him lightly and kisses him again, and then his jacket is sliding to the floor and his bow-tie is loose. Her blouse is unbuttoned and her gun-belt pushed down over her jodhpur, encircling her feet on the floor. She presses him against the console before he grips her waist and flips them, now in the dominant position.

They continue to deepen the kiss until they hear a loud throat clear from one of entranceways. River breaks the kiss and looks indifferently over at Annie, standing with two TARDIS blue mugs and a hurt, perplexed expression on her face.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammers. "I didn't mean to...I didn't know..."

River nonchalantly lets go of the Doctor's hair to straighten her shirt, buttoning it carefully up to the top. "No, no, don't worry. You were promised tea, after all."

The Doctor is blushing madly and scratching his chin, unaware that he is still pinning River to the console. River coughs, motion to his hands, and he drops his hands from her waist and steps back.

His hair is roughly fluffed, lips smeared with red, the beginnings of a hickey on his lower jaw, and his shirt is awfully disheveled. She has a proud moment of '_I did that'_ before bending down to pick up her belt and his bow-tie, handing it over to him.

"I don't understand," Annie says.

The Doctor is at a loss for words so River fills in, sighing. "The Doctor and I...well, we're sort of together."

"But...but I thought," she trails off. "I thought we..."

He looks properly ashamed and rightfully so, she thinks. "I know he can be rather confusing, our Doctor. He's the most impossible man I've ever met."

He shoots her a defensive look, and his pout is the most adorable thing that it takes all of her energy to hold herself back from kissing him again.

"And Annie, I'm sorry you got the wrong impression. But here's the thing: the Doctor's _mine_." She doesn't mean to be quite so possessive and doesn't know why she is, but the straightening of the Doctor's back lets her know he likes it. His body chemistry changes and she can smell it, and she represses a grin resulting from her talented ability to turn him on.

"I see," she says sadly. "I'll just, I'll meet you in the kitchen."

She turns and walks out of the room, mugs still steaming in hand. River turns to the Doctor and shakes her head.

"See? I told you."

He rubs a hand through his hair, trying to make it look presentable. "How could I not notice that?"

"You're thick, my love."

"Is that so?" he mumbles contentedly, pulling River towards him. "You would know, wouldn't you?"

River's mouth drops open and she chokes on a laugh, eyes wide. "Doctor! I'm sensing eagerness."

"You make me hungry," he whispers into her neck.

"Well," she gasps out. "We can be a few minutes late to tea."


	53. Cosmic Love

Disclaimer: Own nothing, no profit, all rights to the BBC.

**Hello my fellow Whovians! I would just like to say that last night's episode was the first time I have cried during an episode of Doctor Who since "The End of Time, Part 2." Which also means this is a reaction fic, so sorry to all of you readers who have yet to watch "The God Complex" but this would spoil you. IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN LAST NIGHT'S EPISODE, STOP READING NOW.**

**Anyways, here's my take on the aftermath. I don't know if I love it, but it feels right to me so I'll post it for you guys to either love, hate, reject, or cherish. All or none of the above is fine too, of course.**

**Thank you for the support and I see a pattern that more people like (if reviews=enjoying the chapter) comedic encounters, so maybe I will try to whip up more of those. I'd really love feedback in that sense-what kind of stories do you like to read the most?**

**Please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Cosmic Love-Florence + the Machine<p>

_I took the stars from our eyes, and then I made a map  
><em>_And knew that somehow I could find my way back.  
><em>_Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too,  
><em>_So I stayed in the darkness with you._

_The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out,  
><em>_You left me in the dark.  
><em>_No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight  
><em>_In the shadow of your heart._

* * *

><p>"I left them."<p>

They are not words but whispers of despair pulled forth from his lips. "I left them," he repeats.

She is afraid to move a muscle, terrified of changing a single atom in the atmosphere and forever breaking the tender thread of which the Doctor is clinging to so tightly as a lifeline. He is breaking in front of her and she doesn't have the heart to sew him up.

"Shh," she hushes. "Hush, now."

He takes two steps forward and literally falls head over heels into her, causing her to stumble and trip backwards into the wall. It holds her up as she holds him up, and she is thankful at least one of them is made of sturdy material.

Tears soak through the thick fabric of her sweatshirt into her skin, droplets of pain, age, and fear burning the supple feel of her body's surface. Each teardrop is a knife into her shoulder, but she is willing to collapse under the pressure of the stabbing desperation in an attempt to relieve him.

This moment is a moment of complete and utter rarity, this openness in the middle of his calamity never so easily given. He is trusting her with himself, with everything. She has never seen him more vulnerable.

"You saved them," she coos. "They are alive and _breathing_ because of you."

He still does not respond, too caught up with crying to do anything else.

"My love," she coddles. Her cosseting is met with a heavier weight as he presses into her, unable to keep himself up alone. Emotionally and physically, he is completely depending upon her.

His sobs are gasping, his lungs conquering the air and forcing it down his throat. He cannot breathe and yet that is all he can do, and she is stroking loving fingers around his temples as she comforts him.

"Be strong, Doctor," she whispers. She says his name like a benediction, seeming to bless the world around them with the utterance of this prayer. "Try, Doctor. I need you to try."

His fingers curl in the material of her sweatshirt, pulling it so tightly she is frightened for a moment she will not be able to breathe. Shifting herself up a little, her throat opens and the air is heavy in her body and the surrounding space. His fists draw her towards him, their breaths mingling and interchanging.

"I can't," he releases.

His eyes are pleading as he musters the courage to look at her, and this is the oldest she has ever seen him. His eyes are ancient, _so incredibly ancient_, and she feels a literal splitting where her hearts are in the middle of her chest.

"You have to try." she pauses, almost belligerently. "Try for me, Doctor. Be strong for _me_."

These last words get through to him and his breath catches and River can feel his entire body tense up against her. She reaches for one of his hands and interlaces their fingers, struck by how sensual and intimate the gesture is. She squeezes lightly but doesn't release the pressure, slowly walking them over to the open floor of her hallway.

There, she drops them to the floor and they lie against the wood, panting and choking and holding hands.

She can tell his clothes are chafing against his skin and he pushes himself up on his elbows, staring her straight in the eye. She meets his gaze with eyes filled by love, and the tears resume as he leaps up and attacks her lips with his. He clings desperately to her body as he tries to gain composure and closure, but she gently pushes him away despite knowing the dejection that will surface.

His face is even sadder than she imagined, and misery is woven into every feature of his contradictory visage.

She lifts a hand to his cheek but he backs away from her touch, more broken than before. She simply shakes her head and looks away, then back up to meet his eyes.

"Not like this," she says firmly. "Besides," she hesitates. "Not yet."

He cannot comprehend what she is saying and he is on his feet, discovering the strength to hold himself upright. He backs away from her and knocks over a stack of books with the jut of his hips, a striking pain searing through his side that he consciously ignores.

"Why?" he shouts, letting go of any shred of dignity as he throws himself against the wall. "Why not now?"

She stays silent, her poker face greeting his furious one.

"Am I too broken for you, River? Am I not good enough?" His sarcasm is piercing the air and he cannot keep himself together as he continues on, screaming and gesturing and releasing the fire. "Is this what you want? Shall I come back with a smile and then 'jolly good, let's meddle with the Doctor? The grand, heroic, _proud_ Doctor. Let's wait until he is good again and then he will be good enough for me.'"

His lips are quivering but his voice is not, steady and unwavering and resolute.

"Because this must be a game to you, River. Just a tragic, star-crossed love story because you have nothing better to do with your time than fiddle with my life. Well, I've had it. I don't want to see you again, River. Leave me alone!"

He crumbles to the floor as he slides against the wall, his hands covering his head and pulling his hair hard enough to draw forth fistfuls.

When she still does not react, he looks up and glares at her. He lifts himself from his heap and stands over, all but spitting at her. "This is what you make me. What is the point of you?"

Wiping his spit from her face with the sleeve of her jumper, she stands up slowly and meets his gaze.

She blinks unhurriedly, patiently, and he drops to his knees and grabs her legs as he cries into them; the greatest man in the universe reduced to clutching at worn denim.

She lowers a hand to his hair and strokes gently, moving her hand southwards until she is tracing his jaw with feather-light fingertips. She hooks two fingers under his chin and lifts his face to make eye-contact, twirling circles on his skin with the pad of her thumb.

"They will be happy," she says matter-of-factly. "You are giving them happiness."

The tears on his face begin to dry as his cheeks are stained and stiff all at once, tight skin over the sharp edges of his facial structure. He brings himself to his feet and his shoulders are hunched as she swirls Gallifreyan symbols on his cheeks with her fingertips. He catches her wrist with one hand and looks at it with a mixed expression of adoration, heartbreak, and calmness.

She tugs her hand away and brings her hands down to his feet. She bends and fixes his shoes first, tying the laces taut and into perfect bows. Next are his trousers, fluffing and straightening the fabric against his legs. She makes her way up to his shirt, tucking it in and re-clipping his braces so they are tight on his shoulders. Skipping his jacket, she ruffles his hair and then smoothes it to one side, brushing it behind one ear just the way he likes it. Lastly, she runs each hand down one of his arms and flattens the tweed, then trails her way over to the lapels, pulling them down and proper against the back of his neck.

River takes a step back and admires her handiwork, finally meeting his eyes.

"How do I look?" he chokes out, an attempt for humor.

She smiles broader than he's ever seen when she responds. "Amazing," she says. "Absolutely amazing."

"I'm vain," he whispers.

"So am I."

He shakes his head. "I'm old."

"Me too."

He can't bring himself to look at her as he speaks. "The universe hates me."

"What a coincidence."

He looks up, deadpan. "Stop competing."

She laughs aloud at this and his expression shifts, finally, to the faintest hint of a smile.

She smirks. "I will if you will."

He is fully smiling now and she cannot describe the love bursting in her chest but somehow she contains it, standing her ground.

"You don't have to be alone." she says, taking a step closer to him. "I am here with you. You aren't the last anymore."

His smile falters a little as she looks him in the eye, meeting him step for step.

"You don't even have to belong to yourself. You can be mine," she breathes out. "You can let go of everything, for just a moment. Can't you?"

He finds the courage to nod, still silent.

"I am always loving you, remember that," she pauses. "Even when we are apart, I am loving you somewhere, somewhen, somehow. Always."

"River," he lets out. "Oh, River."

And then she wraps him in her arms and leads him to the bedroom, and there they fall asleep together, still in their clothes and entangled in each other's limbs. She holds him tonight as he drifts into a nightmare, or possibly a dream, and she knows she will hold him through everything. Through fire and ice and rage, through crystal constellations and oceans set on fire, through agony and turmoil and sheer happiness, she will hold him.

She holds him as he slumbers, and she will never let him go.


	54. She's Always a Woman

Disclaimer: Own nothing, all rights to the BBC, no profit or infringement intended.

**Hello darlings! All of your giddy reactions to the last chapter were so wonderful-I was unsure about posting it but I am so glad you guys seemed to like it.**

**This song was suggested by 'MissRAB' and as soon as I heard it (also I LOVE Billy Joel) and looked it up I thought it was _perfect_. So here you go! It is much shorter than a few of the other ones and more reflective, but I think it was the only way to work it out.**

**Thank you for everything, and please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>She's Always a Woman-Billy Joel<p>

_She is frequently kind  
><em>_And she's suddenly cruel,  
><em>_She can do as she pleases.  
><em>_She's nobody's fool  
><em>_But she can't be convicted;  
><em>_She's earned her degree  
><em>_And the most she will do  
><em>_Is throw shadows at you,_

_But she's always a woman to me._

* * *

><p>River sashays around the room like she owns the place, and he can't help but think it's a bit sexy.<p>

The Doctor is well aware of the physicals of their relationship, but that is not the only attraction that has drawn him to her. She's incredibly clever, supremely witty, and takes charge of a situation in the best way possible. She is nothing more and nothing less than his equal.

It has been a couple of years since he's met with anyone who rivals him the way she does, with either intellect or passion or body. She feels Time flow through her the same as he and she dances across galaxies with stars on her heels, sending him on an increasingly-maddening search to follow her. She dives off of buildings, jumps outs of spaceships, her trust so absolute she believes in her core that he will catch her. And he does, every time.

Adventure and excitement follows her everywhere, her constant companion. Death has not attached itself to her the way it has to him, and that is another quality he can't help but admire. She flies through the universe on purposeful whimsy, bending the laws of physics and chemistry to fit her wants. She doesn't really mind the ensuing paradoxes because they have always been wrapped around her life, so she's developed an immunity to the random knots and ties in timelines. Nothing really bothers her and he loves her for that; except, well, maybe for him.

As he's grown to know her as a lover, he can't help but adore the little things she does, too. There's a certain way she quirks her mouth when he's gone off rambling, and that look is so adorable he tends to try to ramble a lot. The apples of her cheeks appear when she smiles and he falls more in love with her face each time he sees it, and secretly he is glad she cannot regenerate. Obviously he isn't, that would be horrible, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't grown particularly attached to this face.

He loves the way her body slopes in curves and molds into the perfect fit for his hands, the shape of a woman beneath his fingertips. The peaks and valleys of her figure make it easy for him to claim her, and this is another new thing she brings out in him: possessiveness.

Never before as he felt so strongly (well, not since Gallifrey, at least) about his mark on another, on defining it clear to the universe that she is his and his alone. Possessiveness comes with his protectiveness, he supposes, but that doesn't change anything. She is darting about the universe and constantly interacting with beings who eye her as something to be won, but by _god_ he'd sooner die than let someone else's hands touch her hips.

In times such as now when she speaks, his gaze is drawn to her eyes and not her lips. He cannot always tell whether or not she's lying, but any and every emotion she has is clearly shown in those hazel-green-blue-gray eyes. He often wonders how they hold so many colors though has long ago decided it's just one little miracle of the universe. She is his miracle, sanctified throughout time and space and his love.

There were those before her and there may be those after, but right now she is the stars, the moon, and the sky and everything he has never experienced. She is the sun, and she brings life to him in the darkest of times, illuminating his perspective.

He has never met someone less willing to obey him or give in, and he shouldn't like that but he really, _really_ does. She challenges him on every level and aspires to beat him, and her willingness to be right is such a familiar quality he can't do anything but appreciate it. She acts like him and often will take his responsibilities upon herself, something he should hate but somehow doesn't. He falls in love with her just that little more whenever she says 'no,' her steely determination an overwhelming facet. Among other things, he loves that woman.

Right now, she's flashing make-up lined eyes at the security guard and getting just close enough to press a small kiss on his lips. The Doctor knows that soon enough the man will be glossy-eyed and gravitationally challenged, though pretends to act offended. The man drops as if on cue and River pushes forward, a cautious hand trailing the barrel of her gun.

Then she's pushing past locked doors, sterilizing their surroundings, outsmarting security, and he's falling in love with her every time.


	55. The City and the River

Disclaimer: Own nothing but the writing, all rights to the BBC, no profit or infringement intended.

**Hello loves! OFFICIALLY, we have hit over 200 reviews-which is completely and entirely due to you guys, so thank you so much.**

**Here's one that's a bit fun and I hope you like it; thank you as always and please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>The City and the River-Rescues<p>

_Laid the track, poured the streets,  
><em>_Towers of glass and concrete,  
><em>_In silence you watched what I became;  
><em>_Lifted me up,  
><em>_Said I'd stand at the top  
><em>_And all the world would know my name._

_You, you always stay by me.  
><em>_You, you wander but never leave.  
><em>_I'm the one who watches over you,  
><em>_That's what I was built to do._

* * *

><p>River Song has one giant, major pet-peeve. She cannot stand rude people.<p>

So when the woman to her left starts mouthing off at the young man to her right, it isn't really her fault when her gun is drawn out and aimed precisely at the space between the woman's eyes. River can't be held accountable for other people's behavior. At least, that is what she tells herself.

The local police officers seem to have a different opinion, though, as they are currently chasing her down both on foot and motorcycle. But she can't deny she's impressed with how close they have come to her so far.

She attributes it to the fact she is wearing heels.

They are pure glass and she bought them on a whim in a market three million miles to the northwest and about five-hundred years previous. They were a compulsive buy, but she loves that she can say she owns a pair of glass slippers. Maybe next trip she'll get some ruby ones.

Her dress is a brilliant blue and it occurs to her that the majority of her wardrobe is either TARDIS blue or army green. She'll fix that on her next shop as well.

She tangles her fingers in the ribbon tying her curls together, ripping it out in one clean stroke. It trails airily to the ground behind her, landing on the pavement before being trampled on by the boots of local security enforcement. The black lace is reduced to grime, pounded into the cement cracks.

She turns a corner and ducks into an alleyway, darting behind a large dumpster. She flicks her right earring once and the bio-dampeners halt any omission of life signs-she is invisible to any basic-humanoid scans for the next five minutes.

The footsteps fly past her and slowly die out, but she waits another half a minute before standing herself upright and strolling out of the passageway. Lifting the hem of her dress up, she tucks her gun back into its place on her holster and pats the fabric down around it so it is unnoticeable. Satisfied, she makes her way back to a four-way intersection. Spying an expensive-looking car on the other side of the road, she walks undisturbed through oncoming traffic and ignores the blaring of horns when she reaches the vehicle. She tugs at the door handle and smiles; it's locked. _Good_, she thinks. _More fun this way._

She pulls out a barrette from her unkempt bun and jams it into the lock, turning thrice and digging gently into the machinery. In a matter of seconds it opens, and then she is speeding down the street with the windows rolled down and the stereo blasting.

The song currently playing won't actually be written for two or three decades, but it's one of her favorites so she ignores the possibility of a paradox. Time can bend to her will for a little, she thinks, just as long as it keeps her happy.

A bright blue box catches the corner of her eye and she sighs, displeased. If the Doctor's here then she's set for a good scolding and she isn't really in the mood to be reprimanded by a nine hundred-year-old child. Deciding to move on, she runs another red light and then there is the familiar sound of sirens. The obtrusive, glaring noise only encourages her, and she is off to the races in a high-speed car chase. _Oh_, she has missed this.

She flicks her gaze to the clock on the dashboard, memorizes the time, and veers off-road and heads straight for a cliff. Grateful for the topography, she takes her pursuers on a dangerous path up a hill, grass and dirt flying behind her into the windshields of her followers.

Approaching the edge, she hears shouts from behind and lets go of the wheel. Turning quickly around to wink at the disbelieving men, she dials numbers on her wrist and blinks out of sight.

The car topples over the cliff and the men stand at the edge, ashamed.

She materializes a moment after her car has sped past the TARDIS, amusedly watching the police cars zoom by. Bending down to relieve her aching feet, she hooks her fingers through the back of her shoes and flings them over her shoulders. She swivels on the spot and knocks on the TARDIS doors. After waiting a few minutes, she digs out the key she wears as a necklace and opens the door.

The lights turn on as soon as she enters and it takes River a moment to realize the Doctor isn't here. Sighing, she hooks the stilettos of her heels on the bar of the scanner. Upon deciding that she really ought to mess with him for showing up during one of her escapades so unexpectedly, she takes her wide-range video camera the size of a pencil point and sticks it to the inside of one shoe.

Then she heads off to her room in the TARDIS, but before going into her room, slips her bra off and hangs it on the doorknob facing the corridor. Smiling, she slides inside her chamber and goes to wash up.

About an hour later, River is alerted by a bleeping on her gun-belt that her camera has detected motion. She moves over to the belt and unclips the silver alert, presses a button, and the small circle unfolds into a portable television screen. She touches the screen three times and flips it over, shakes it, and suddenly the image of the Doctor peering quizzically at her shoe appears.

His brow is furrowed and he is scratching his cheek, thoroughly confused. She grins giddily and sits down on her bed, happy to watch the scene unfold.

He leans forwards and licks the camera, unaware of its existence, and rubs his tongue with his thumb. Peering at the other shoe, he whips out his sonic and runs it along the length of the footwear, bewildered. He reads the scan and his eyes widen, and then he breaks out into a smile and points a finger directly at the camera.

Laughing, he mouths, "My bad girl." Then he swiftly turns and walks down the corridor and the camera swings jauntily as he carries it by his side.

She turns off the screen, defeated, and changes back into her towel for when he reaches the door. After a minute or so of primping, there's a knock on her door and she singsongs, "Come in!"

Her bra is crumpled in his fist and he has an arrogant smirk on his face, only for it to be wiped completely off and morphed into a surprised, embarrassed expression.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to.."

He brings the bra to his eyes in an attempt to shield his gaze, then upon realizing the folly, drops it to the floor and smacks himself in the forehead with his palm. He stumbles into the room and trips over himself, landing squarely on his back in the middle of the floor.

She laughs and moves to stand beside him, holding her towel up with a single hand.

"Hello, sweetie."

His palm still covering his eyes, he whimpers. "I'd really appreciate it if you didn't stand over me like that."

"Like what?" Her mock-innocence sends a flush of red down his neck. "You can't even see me, how do you know how I'm standing?"

"I'm clever," he says.

She scoffs. "Fine, fine, if it makes you feel better." She walks away and sits on the bed, waiting for him to clamber up and gain composure.

He pauses a second before getting up and lowering his hand, cautious.

"It's not like anything you haven't seen before," she comments.

He grows red again and falters, unsure of where to stand or what to say. "Yes, I suppose, but usually it doesn't just start out like this and I tend to be unclothed as well and this seems unfair and that towel is a really bright shade of white, almost as white as the snow-capped mountains on Alpha 4, now there's a white that really defines 'white as snow,' you know? Mind you, the people there have two faces and tentacles. And I don't mean two heads-two faces! Can you believe that? And tentacles! Spectacular! Brilliant. And why are you looking at me like that?"

"Are you having fun rambling?"

He gulps, adjusting his bow-tie. "Not particularly." She stands and he gulps again, wagging a finger at her. "And don't think I didn't see you steal that car earlier."

"Is that a threat, honey?"

His eyes widen as she draws closer, hiking the hem of her towel just the smallest bit higher.

"Just a statement. A fact. A fatement, if you will. Or a stact."

She smiles, closing the space between them. "I like it when you get all nervous and shaky. I take it as a compliment."

"You do know I'm trying to be, right?"

She smirks. "Of course you are."

He takes a step towards her and smiles, reaching for her. "Of course I am."


	56. Sky Might Fall

Disclaimer: Own nothing but the writing, all rights to the BBC, no profit or infringement intended.

**Hey guys, I'm so sorry that I haven't updated in a while: I'm so busy it is criminal. I've forgotten how much I enjoy writing these, though, and this takes place sometime almost immediately before the Doctor goes to Craig in "Closing Time."**

**I'm proud of how it came out, it kind of developed a life of its own. Thank you for helping me break 200 reviews, I look forward to everything you guys say! Please continue to send me suggestions, they are wonderful.**

**Thanks as always, and please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Sky Might Fall-Kid Cudi<p>

_Like a martian you seein' it,  
><em>_Wandered out the place,  
><em>_Take what you need from the valley of tha hopeful.  
><em>_Even if you dry you'll be floatin' high above it.  
><em>_You can say Bye Bye Bye,  
><em>_Sky might be fallin' but remember you can fly high._

_The sky might fall,  
><em>_The sky might fall,  
><em>_But I'm not worried at all.  
><em>_C'mon c'mon;  
><em>_The sky might fall,  
><em>_The sky might fall,  
><em>_But I'm not worried at all._

* * *

><p>He stumbles upon a tube of red lipstick when he least expects it.<p>

It's there in the middle of his screwdriver drawer, amidst the six or seven back-up sonics he keeps around on the off-chance he needs a new one. Because they never ever break. Ever.

Okay, maybe they do just once in a while.

The black tube concealing the red inside takes him by surprise at first, and after a quick but thorough scanning he swivels the bottom to reveal the rouge stick inside. He stares at it for a moment, unsure of what to do, then calmly caps the tube and squeezes it firmly before sticking it in his pocket and turning to the console.

The console is practically begging for a trip; it's been nearly a week since he kept himself holed up in solitude. Solitude, after all, is his most loyal companion.

He has been knocking about on his own now for a while, artificially content with traveling alone and exploring the universe. He realizes it isn't half as much fun by himself.

Amy and Rory surface his mind often, their TARDIS blue door on their robin's egg blue house with their electric red car out front. It's everything they've ever dreamed of, and he knows that. He knows he's given them their dreams but that doesn't make it hurt any less.

His palms are sweaty and it takes him a moment to realize the reason; he's fingering the lipstick case absentmindedly, caressing it. Fondling it?

The past few days have been a long period of good sulking, brooding throughout the TARDIS in the library, then the kitchen, and now the console room. It's made him feel a little better and given him a lot of time to think about the coming days, as he knows his time is slowly running out.

Hopelessness drowns him the way excitement used to, and his hearts are heavy with sorrow as he pads around his endless, shifting maze. He feels like a child refusing to come inside for dinner and worries about accepting the future ahead, though knows he must. His time has come and gone and there isn't any place in the universe for him anymore, so he supposes his coming death is ironically well-timed.

His recent lack of companionship has led him to dark corners in even darker places, and darkness surrounds him despite the simulated sunlight of the TARDIS' garden. His favorite haunts no longer comfort him, and comfort has become a forbidden whisper of his starless nights.

Sleep evades him as do dreams, but nightmares plague his days and creep under his skin, inescapable and unavoidable.

The Doctor's hermitage has helped him, though, helped him to grip acceptance with a new and sturdy hold. The TARDIS hums in the back of his mind in an attempt to console him, but it's of no use. Time keeps up with him as he runs, but his legs are growing weak and his hearts are beating slower despite the quickened pace of his trail.

He looks at the center controls and smiles sadly to himself.

"We've been leaving a trail in the universe, you and I, and I used to think we were invincible."

He pauses, takes a breath.

"But I'm a daft old man. I've been growing old for so long now."

He looks up, watches the cylinders push up and down.

"It's about time I stop."

He closes his eyes and crumbles his hands into fists, fighting tears. He doesn't want to cry as he walks to his death. He hopes he can retain at least some shred of dignity in this moment of acceptance.

The tube of lipstick nudges the knuckle of his thumb and he opens his eyes, glancing down at the imprint of memory.

River flashes before his eyes; her powdered cheeks and glowing, golden waves sprinting past his sight in the span of a second. Her smile transcends galaxies and thousands of years to land in his mind's hard drive, appearing to him in this moment of need. Friend or foe or lover, she is his savior. He wishes she were here now.

Lonely acceptance drives him to the brink of sanity, because let's face it, he's always been relatively insane. He must be, if he spends his time running around and fighting monsters.

But loneliness pervades him and suddenly he is imagining River standing beside him, gazing up at him with eyes that are too beautiful to be real.

"Hello sweetie," she says, or he says. He knows this is a hallucination but he doesn't particularly care at the moment.

His shoulders sag and he sighs, leaning his weight against the console. "Hello, self. Rather, hello subconscious-presently-taking-the-shape-of-River."

"We're well acquainted, I see."

He laughs, charmed. His smile turns sour, though, and he drops the playful pretense that once permeated the air. "I'm going to die."

"Me too, someday."

He glares at River's projection. "Going to bring that up? Really? Now?"

"Fine, fine." she waves a dismissive hand. "You're obviously in a grouchy mood."

He glowers. "Well, you would be too if you were about to face your own death."

"Is that what you're doing?"

He fumbles the lipstick, deciding to place it back in his pocket. It's too much of a distraction. "I guess so."

She smirks at him, unconvinced.

"Maybe not. I don't know!" He spins on his heels and circles the center structure, stroking small bits and bobbles as he passes by them. "I'm so old, River."

"I'm not here to be your pity party."

This grabs his attention and he stops moving, staring at her. "Oh? You're just here to mock me, are you?"

She sighs, taking a few steps towards him. It's so incredibly River-like and he is impressed by the accuracy of his imagination. He fixes his bow-tie and smoothes his hands over his lapels, reveling in the feeling of rough tweed against his palms.

"I'm tired of playing this game, River."

She quirks an eyebrow in confusion. "Honey, you love the teasing even more than I do. I know that for a fact."

He shrugs. "Not _that_ game. I meant this-all of this." He waves around the room with one hand, gesturing to space surrounding them. "I'm tired of befriending people and watching them leave, tired of running so far I don't even remember where I came from, and I'm tired of watching the universe grow newer as I just get older. It isn't fair."

"Life's not fair, honey."

He snorts, glancing at her. "Who made up that rule?"

She smiles sadly, just like she does when she's right and he doesn't know it. "You've been around the block. I thought you would know."

"I don't know everything."

Laughing, she takes another step closer and leans against the center structure, framing her chin with her palm as she leans an elbow against some lever. "Isn't that why you keep going?"

"It used to be."

"What changed?"

This stops him, opening and closing his mouth for a minute or two before he can think of what to say. She waits patiently, gazing expectantly at his benevolent but confused features. "Me, I guess."

"You guess?"

"Fine, me. I did, I changed. Happy?"

She clicks her tongue and folds her arms, shrugging her shoulders up complacently. "I'm just a hallucination. You tell me."

He thinks for a moment, pauses. "I think...yes. I thought I'd never get done saving them, but I suppose it's time for me to go. I've passed my prime. On to the next adventure, they say."

She smiles sadly again, continuing. "My work here is done, then. You've accepted what is to come."

"Thank you, River."

She laughs, gloating a bit. "Thank yourself, my love. I'm what you make me."

"Will I ever see you again?"

She ponders the thought, her forehead furrowing in concentration. "By which you mean River, I assume. Why not invite her along? If you're going to die, why not do it big? It'd hardly be a party without her anyway. Or me, I suppose. Whichever you prefer."

He smiles softly, blinking slowly. "I love you," he says, choking on the words.

"I know," she replies. "But whom do you mean?"

And then she is gone, vanished without a trace, and he is left in the empty room with the unanswerable question and a soul heavy with worry. He looks at the coat-hanger and his green coat, sighing.

"Time for a final goodbye," he whispers.


	57. Sand and Water

Disclaimer: Own nothing, all rights to the BBC, no profit or infringement intended.

**Well, there you go. The wedding, eh? Personally, I loved it. Truly, deeply, loved it. I suppose this is my reaction fic (in fact it most definitely is) so IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE FINALE, STOP HERE. THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS. SPOILERS AND NO REGRETS.**

**This song was suggested by 'ElphieUpland' ages ago, but I've had no use for it until now. It fits rather well, I think.**

**Thank you so much for your patience and kind words, they really brighten my day! Please please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Sand and Water-Beth Nielsen Chapman<p>

_All alone, I came into the world.  
><em>_All alone, I will someday die.  
><em>_Solid stone is just sand and water, baby,  
><em>_Sand and water, and a million years gone by._

_I will see you in the light of a thousand suns,  
><em>_I will hear you in the sound of the waves.  
><em>_I will know you when I come, as we all will come,  
><em>_Through the doors, beyond the grave._

* * *

><p>The Doctor longs to play in the shadows.<p>

Though not the shadows that lurk behind dark corners on late nights, nay, he dreams of the umbrage of an elm tree on a hot summer's day. He pines for the shade underneath a hundred-foot high waterfall or a beautiful woman's face blocking out the sun, and if per chance that beautiful woman has curly blonde hair, who is he to refuse her?

Besides, he has grown tired of being both the universe's warden and most wanted. Where are the days of 'the maintenance man'? The days when he came to call on a whim and not prophecy, or curiosity, or deceit? The wind is rough most days and he knows a storm is approaching, but he has run to the end of time itself and now he wants to patch it back up again. Not because he has to or is obligated to do so, but because he _wants_ to. These days have been, and they have come again.

He remembers the days of prancing through burning nebulas and cascading forests, consumed with a desire to see everything, meet everyone, seek surprise. He used to live for adventure and not puzzles, though if the puzzles came up to surface he would not complain. But like any game, he has exhausted the puzzles and looks for a new passion; like Scrabble. He _has_ always loved words.

River had a lot to do with it. How long has it been since he has seen such blind eyes looking into his own? Hers are clouded with the most tangible devotion of love whether deserved or undeserved, and the imprint of their gaze are burned into his retinas. He cannot escape the image of her love and it projects on the back of his eyelids when he closes his eyes, or blinks. He has tried not blinking. It didn't help.

He thinks he shall slink around planets now, will take Rory's advice and play it quiet. He likes to do things big but through this passion has forgotten the importance of the smaller things, like a child's smile or a woman's affections.

It's funny; he has lived for so long in the glory of love yet has not allowed himself to taste intimacy for nearly a millennia. The Doctor needs people, especially when he doesn't admit it, and there is no higher form of needing someone than what has developed between him and Doctor Song.

All he can see anymore are guns and curls are sun-soaked curves, dancing and fighting and _winning_ throughout all of time and space.

He has come almost full circle now, having met her young and quite possibly married her. It's true it was an aborted timeline and consequently he could say it doesn't count, but he and River both live in all times at once and in all possibilities, so he knows that argument would be useless. Who is to say that reality is not real and this one is just a dream?

Not him; not anymore. He is no God, and he has a feeling that's the way he likes it.

Trying to convince him that River Song is not a goddess, however; that would be as pointless as attempting to convert the Pope to Judaism. He isn't sure if it's the undying devotion, unparalleled intelligence, or voluptuous figure that does it, but boy is he hooked.

He breathes her love now like air, and it fills his lungs to a capacity such that there is no space left for blood or oxygen. She runs through his veins as he runs though time, and he finds himself delighted by the idea of a close encounter.

Whatever his feelings, they haven't consummated their marriage yet. Lucky for him, though, he knows exactly where to find her.

But will he? Shall he seek her out, discover a whole new vista of crevasses that pertain to River's sloping figure? Has it been so long he has forgotten how to be in love, and perhaps she will reject him once she sees him for what he truly is? Will she regret loving him?

She has forgiven him, he knows, for he has forgiven her. Always and completely.

His assurance and confidence in the situation is simultaneously alluring and terrifying, so perhaps this is a sign to carry on. This is something he most likely would have run from before his recorded death, but there is a new era dawning and he would quite like someone to share it with. Someone he's known for so long and yet so little. Someone, maybe, like River Song.

His close adventure with death has not taught him nothing. He walks now as a changed man, a new man. There is pride in his step where before there was sorrow. The shadows welcome him home like a child from a long day at school, weary with concentration and definition.

In fact, River's arms seem a very hospitable place indeed. Perhaps he shall rest there, for a bit. Maybe forever, even though forever never lasts. But he can rest there for as long as pleases and be reborn in her love once more, so perhaps he shall. Yes, perhaps.


	58. Happy

Disclaimer: All rights to the BBC, I own nothing but the writing, no profit or infringement intended.

**It's been much too long since I updated and for that I can only apologize. I sincerely have around four different fics for this going on and my mind is everywhere and I haven't been able to finish this up but I did today, so here you go! This song was suggested by 'CountryGrl.'**

**Your patience has been amazing, and I am overjoyed by all the newcomers who have read through recently and just discovered this. Hello to all of you!**

**Thank you for everything, you guys keep me sane as I write. Please please please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Happy-Nevershoutnever!<p>

_I'm happy knowing that you are mine,  
><em>_The grass is greener on the other side,  
><em>_The more I think, the more I wish  
><em>_That we could lay here for hours and just reminisce.  
><em>

_On the good, the bad, the ugly,  
><em>_The smiles, the laughs, the funny,  
><em>_All the things we put each other through,  
><em>_It's for you, for you, for you._

* * *

><p>The Doctor walks like an awkward giraffe, all limbs and braces and floppy brown hair. He trips over rocks that don't exist and makes sharp corners when there isn't the need, but she can't say it isn't charming.<p>

Trees spatter the land before them like stars, catching the day's glow of autumn sunlight on the tips of their leaves. Deep reds, burning oranges, and browning yellows set the forest on fire in a blaze of the ending year. The air is heavy in their lungs, crisp in their mouths, and smells faintly of mulled cider.

Leaves crunch underneath their feet and River pulls her sweater higher up to just below her nose, trying to grapple for the possibility of warmth.

The Doctor's eyes are wide as they take everything in, his head darting back and forth and around and behind as he scopes out where they've landed. He drops suddenly to the ground, crouching on all fours, and licks the road hesitantly before heaving himself up by his elbows. His face holds a smile wider than the moon, and he can barely contain his excitement as he fumbles for her hand and drags her forwards; he's grinning like a fool but it's contagious.

"River! River! Do you know where we are?"

He's practically jumping up and down, and she's fairly sure if he continues her arm will be pulled out of its socket.

"Darling, love, settle down. Where are we?"

There's a smile in his voice when he answers. "The lovely Planet Earth...and it's fall! I love fall! All the hot drinks, cozy sweaters, pumpkin patches. And Halloween, no less. I must say I'm surprised that's one day monsters tend to skip over-you'd think they'd be all over it. Hopefully none are around for me to be giving them any ideas...Not that that's happened before. Alright, once or twice."

She laughs, looping one arm through his. "I smell cider doughnuts."

His nose sniffs around and he perks up, furrowing his brow intently. "This is definitely something to be investigated."

"You think?" She arches an eyebrow, challenging him.

Two hours later they are sitting on the roots of a tree, at least five miles away from society, drinking a caramel-infused coffee that tastes too good to not be off-planet. A bit of cinnamon powder has found its way to the Doctor's chin, and River reaches a chilly hand up to wipe it away. He gives her a defiant look and she swats his chin playfully, backhanding his jaw in her attempt to scold.

She nestles comfortably in the crook of his collarbone and sighs, perfectly content. He leans his head on hers for a moment, allowing the muscles in his back to relax and his body to fall to putty underneath River.

Numbing toes, chattering teeth, and freakishly warm hands are their companions for the moment. A stray leaf falls to the ground every now and then, swept up in the nipping breeze that sends curls flying into her face. The Doctor pushes her hair out of her eyes before River even reaches up and she catches his palm with her hand and brings it down to her lips, studying the creases intently before pressing light kisses to the juncture of each finger and knuckle. Cool skin greets warm lips, and the Doctor shivers imperceptibly at the contact.

"See?" he murmurs. "We can go for an adventure that doesn't include running. Or battling aliens. Or even noticing any odd patterns in the area-though the lady who sold us our doughnuts was entirely too grumpy for my taste. Maybe there's something in the water."

His eyes light up and he pauses, casually flicking out his sonic screwdriver to scan the ground before putting it back in his pocket.

"Nope, I think she's just got a natural frown," he muses.

River chuckles, nuzzling closer to his chest. "Alright fine, it turns out you are capable of avoiding trouble. Personally, I think you got lucky."

He scoffs playfully, mock-offended.

"Not to say I don't enjoy the running," she adds thoughtfully.

A smile forms on his face and he lightly kisses her bed of hair affectionately. "I'm a big fan of it myself."

When he looks down he sees a round purple mark poking out from under her sweater, and he brushes her hair aside to push the fabric down and trace the clotted area. It takes her a moment to realize what he's doing, but he tugs the sweater down to give him a better vantage point before she can stop him.

"What's this?" he asks, his voice cracking at the end.

She sits up quickly and pulls her jacket to its original position, suddenly bashful. "Nothing, it's nothing," she mutters. He has a strange look on his face when she draws her gaze to his eyes, clouded with an indefinable expression. "What?"

"It's not nothing, River. Let me see!"

She swipes at his hands as they reach for her sweater, and then they are rolling around in the crunching leaves as she struggles underneath him. The idea forms in his mind and he begins to tickle her sides, and soon she is gasping, pleading for release. He finally relents, but not without pushing the fabric away and getting a good long look at the side of her neck.

When he does, he turns a bright, vivid red that rivals the color of one of the nearby trees.

"_Oh_," he chokes on the exclamation, gulping.

She kicks herself further away from him, wary of his tickling fingers. "Yes," she blushes, and suddenly he realizes he has never seen her blush before. He rather likes it. It rather suits her.

"Is that-I mean..when did? Or rather who did-or rather..." Hoping she'll relieve him, he trails off uncomfortably.

She continues to blush and draws her knees to her chest, resting her chin on the crevasse between her kneecaps.

"I don't think I've ever seen you blush before, River."

Reddening the tiniest bit more, she smiles sheepishly. "I _am_ a person too, you know. I do all sorts of things regular people do. Like sleep, or eat, or sigh, or blush."

He laughs, amused.

"Stop it! Don't make fun of me."

He stops his laughter, but the merriment is still in his eyes when he responds. "Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?"

"Yes, actually."

His mouth drops open and he gapes, offended, though oddly aroused by her witty reply. "You're impossible."

"Good thing I'm beautiful, then, eh?"

He huffs in exasperation, defeated. He smiles and leans down slowly to nuzzle her bed of hair, letting out a satisfied sigh.

There are times to run and times to hide, times to laugh and times to cry, but sometimes they have no time at all to do anything but love each other, and for him that is enough.


	59. Roll Away Your Stone

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the writing, all rights to the BBC, etc.

**I've been on a Mumford & Sons craze the past few days so this is a result of that, and I'm pleased with how this turned out so I hope you like it.**

**Thank you so much for all the generous reviews, you guys are too sweet. Please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Roll Away Your Stone-Mumford &amp; Sons<p>

_Stars hide your fires  
><em>_For these here are my desires,  
><em>_And I won't give them up to you this time around  
><em>_And so I will be found  
><em>_With my stake stuck in this ground,  
><em>_Marking the territory of this newly impassioned soul._

_And you, you've gone too far this time.  
><em>_You have neither reason nor rhyme  
><em>_With which to take this soul that is so rightfully mine._

* * *

><p>There's a smell in the air that is unmistakably <em>delicious<em>, and the Doctor nearly bangs his head on the scanner when it wafts into the console room.

He stands up straight, smiles. A symphony of loud expletives reaches his ears and he chuckles before flipping a switch, turning a dial, and straightening his bow-tie before striding out of the room.

The smell grows in intensity as he nears the TARDIS' kitchen, and a white powdery substance bursts into his face when he opens the door, a cloud of flour attacking his visage.

River is standing there in all her frantic glory, a hip cocked to the side and in the middle of licking her finger to turn a page, furiously studying the book propped up on the counter. Dog-eared pages and scribbled chicken-scratch litter the worn, ripping entity that River is regarding so intently.

When she doesn't look up at his presence, he coughs, offended.

She glances at him for a moment and nods up, once, before returning her gaze to the book. He knows there's no reason to be jealous of a cookbook, but somehow he is.

"River," he half-whines half-questions.

She sighs in exasperation and purses her lips (which suits her quite well, he notices), then closes the book and lays it down on the counter-top to frown at him. "I'm busy, my love. Have you nothing else to do?"

He takes in his surroundings for the first time and realizes why it has smelled like cookies for the past half an hour-there's a batch in the oven and one cooling on steel racks, and all the ingredients are either knocked over or covered in flour as they sit on the tabletop. There's a smudge of cookie dough on her lower chin and a streak of chocolate near her mouth, and he wonders for the first time in a very long while what a chocolate kiss would taste like.

"You made cookies," he says inarticulately, pointing to the goldeny-brown circles nearby.

She raises an eyebrow at him, caught somewhere between amused and irritated. It's really quite fetching.

"Though I'm sure you know that," he continues. "At least I hope you do."

Sighing, she licks her thumb and wipes a curl away from her face. She walks over to him with steady, padded footsteps that sound throughout the room. She stops in front of him and grins as she looks up, tired but sated.

He speaks again. "When you said you wanted to release some stress, I admit this isn't what I assumed."

River laughs, her tongue flicking out to wipe off the small smudge of chocolate placed on the corner of her mouth. She misses but doesn't realize, so the Doctor wets his thumb and wipes it off himself. She smiles as he does and for a moment he can feel the normality of their actions, and he is stuck remembering a life they never had in a kitchen that never existed in a time that was never theirs.

She belatedly shrugs, dropping her shoulders with a sigh. "Don't tell anybody I'm a good baker. I've a reputation to uphold."

It's his turn to laugh as he leans over her to grab a cookie, and she smells like chocolate and sugar and baked goods and it's all he can do to not throw her to the floor and spend the next hour showing his love for every part of her body. He manages to grab a cookie and takes a bite, and River giggles when his eyes light up.

"This-" he pauses, swallowing. "Is _delicious_."

"I know," she responds, dismissive and smug. She's wearing her trademark smirk and he thinks it's ravishing.

"You know," he begins, thoughtful. "I don't think I've ever met someone I understand less than you, Doctor River Song."

This pleases her immensely and she rocks on the balls of her feet, reaching up for a kiss on his cheek. He drops down and follows her for another kiss but she brushes him aside with flour-caked fingers, shaking her head from side to side. Her curls sway in slow motion and all is silence as he watches gold bounce from left to right, down and up.

"Not right now, Doctor. I'm not finished yet."

She walks away and he trails behind, eager. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No no, all set. Go flirt with your other wife, sweetie."

He huffs gruffly, spinning on his heels and heading out the door. He steals a quick glance behind him as he leaves, smiling fondly to himself.

The next time they stop for a short shopping trip on 51st-century Earth in the biggest supermarket in the universe, he is sure to buy a TARDIS-blue apron for the next time River needs to relieve her stress.

When he presents her with the gift, he falls onto the flour-covered floor in a heap of time lord limbs and doesn't get up for an hour. Red kisses are printed all over his body when he finally stands, and a smirk is plastered on his face for days after.


	60. Drops of Jupiter

Disclaimer: All rights to the BBC, I own nothing but the writing.

**This song was suggested by 'MeganBellaRoseBlack' recently and the lyrics really spoke to my inner muse (which is embarrassing for me, because I don't like Train). This piece somehow wrote itself and it's one of my favorites, so I really really really hope you like it.**

**Thank you for the amazing support and sweet reviews, I keep almost giving up because of schoolwork but then you all make me want to continue writing; so thank you!**

**As always, please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Drops of Jupiter-Train<p>

_Tell me did you sail across the sun,  
><em>_Did you make it to the milky way to see the lights all faded  
><em>_And that heaven is overrated?  
><em>

_But tell me, did you fall for a shooting star,  
><em>_One without a permanent scar,  
><em>_And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?_

* * *

><p>"River?" He says one night, tracing the neckline of her hair as she lays spread out on her stomach, closing in on sleep.<p>

"Mm?" She doesn't want to talk but she is humoring him, like she always does. He usually has interesting things to say anyways, so she listens.

Though he doesn't speak, his fingers continue to draw circles on her skin and she finds her eyes are drifting closed despite her best attempts to stay awake. "What, Doctor?"

He brushes all of her hair to one side, swiping it away from him so he can study her neck. "You have a fascinating body."

She snorts, entertained. "Glad you think so. I'm hoping that's a compliment."

"Oh it is, don't worry."

She nestles further into her pillow, hoping the conversation is over. She's only human-plus and there are only so many days she can go without sleep, and besides, she's tired. She wants to go to bed.

"River?"

She sighs, though it is shielded by her mouth pressed into the pillow. "Yes, my love?"

It seems he finally catches on, though, and disregards his previous inquiry. "Oh nothing, nothing, don't mind me. Nevermind."

She rolls her eyes and flips over on the bed, letting out a huff of exasperation as she does. She curls herself so she is facing him, two hands palmed together beneath her head, as she watches him with drowsy interest. "What were you going to say?"

"Go to sleep, River, you're tired."

"I don't need sleep."

"Hush, you do."

"_You_ hush. What were you going to say?"

He shakes his head affectionately, amused. "I was going to ask what you do when you break out of prison but you're not visiting me. I was curious, is all." There's an underlying hint of defense in his tone and it intrigues her immensely. She watches as he twines a curl in one of his fingers, studying its twist with a forced amount of concentration.

"Well," she begins, licking her lips. Where to start? "I go on adventures."

"That's specific."

"You didn't ask for specifics."

He sighs, seemingly irritated. "Forget it, River, go back to sleep. Get some rest, it's a big day tomorrow."

She's more awake now and growing more frustrated by the minute. "I'm not one of your companions, Doctor. Don't treat me like one. What's this sudden curiosity?" A frown is on her face and it won't seem to go away.

"It's not sudden. I've just never asked before." His eyes are fixed on an invisible point over her shoulder, carefully ignoring her burning gaze.

She continues to look at him despite his lingering attempts to dislodge her stare. "I didn't realize you thought about it." She shrugs underneath the covers.

"Of course I do," he pauses. "Of course I think about you."

She cocks her head to one side, an impressive feat considering she's buried her hair in the pillows. "That's not what I meant."

"Isn't it?"

"Don't be childish."

He scoffs and finally meets her eyes, frustrated. "Why do you always make me out to be a child?"

"Why say that as if it's a bad thing?"

He huffs and rolls over to his back, staring at the ceiling. They are quiet for a long time and River feels waves of slumber coming back to her, but she fights off the urge to dream for a littler longer. If she falls asleep, she'll never get this out of him. He'll ignore it in the morning, she knows he will.

She also knows she isn't going to apologize, so she hopes he'll come around soon.

"I'm really much older than you, you know. Like, I've got centuries on you. Hundreds of years."

"Who says? You don't actually know how old I am."

"How old are you?"

She bats her eyelashes, playful. "A lady never tells."

"We're past that, River." He teases her dryly but she swats him anyways, beginning to get concerned when he doesn't fight back. He stays staring at the ceiling, solemn.

Frowning, it's her turn to roll onto her back and she tilts her head, staring at her own spot on the ceiling. "Usually when I break out of Stormcage I'm looking for you," she confesses.

He's interested again but doesn't want to admit it, shifting his body slightly but with a face still deadpan.

"But I want my own name in history books, so there's some of that," she says thoughtfully. "Although I've gone shoe shopping more than once, if I'm honest."

He laughs aloud just once, a chuckle pulled forth from his tense chest. She smiles at her little victory.

"If I'm being serious, though," she murmurs, settling into the mattress. "I like to go on my own adventures. I like the monsters just as much as you do, even if I don't bring anyone along. There's something liberating about going it alone."

A moment passes and he is silent.

"That may just be because I spend the rest of my time in a prison, hey."

He blinks slowly, pensive. He isn't brooding, she can tell, but he's mulling his thoughts over with a scary intensity. Despite the fact he talks all the time, there is always so much he doesn't say. River recognizes this, and it gives her a simple satisfaction that she knows him so well. Possibly, she knows him the best out of anyone in the universe.

Finally, he speaks. "Do you like prison?"

"I don't mind it. Wouldn't say I _like_ it. It's a prison, after all," she muses, turning over on her side to face him. His gaze has not left the ceiling. "But it's really not that bad. Now and then they'll give me a stern talk, but they've learned by now those are just encouragement."

He smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes, and River rolls closer to him, laying a gentle hand on his exposed chest. He still doesn't look at her but he drops his eyes to her hand, and he reaches his own up to stroke it. His fingertips trace mathematical sequences on her palm that he probably doesn't know she realizes.

"I'm there because I want to be," she says. "It's a choice. You know that, don't you?"

He doesn't answer, just stays circling her hand. She draws it back towards her then reaches up to lightly brush his chin, wanting nothing more than for him to look down and meet her gaze.

"Doctor. You do, don't you?"

Harsher than she means to, she grips his jaw with one hand and lowers it to her. Finally, finally, finally, his eyes meet hers. They are sad; she wishes they weren't.

He nods once, refusing to give her an adequate response. She pushes herself up so their bodies are aligned, shoulder to heel, though River has moved so half of her is on the bed and the other half is atop him. In this position, she rests her chin on his chest and looks at him.

"My turn, Doctor. I've got a question."

His throat is as dry as his tone when he speaks again, his voice cracking the smallest bit. "I'm not really in the mood, River."

Her hearts sink in her chest when he replies but she lays her head down, breathing in the smell of him. This is so unlike him she doesn't mind not pressing him any further, and she gains comfort in the fact he is allowing himself to be so vulnerable. He isn't trying to be her superhero right now, and she loves him for it.

She leaves a tiny, close-mouthed kiss on the dip of his sternum. She nuzzles his chest with her nose fondly, letting silence embrace them and become an equal part of their conversation. Sleep begins to cloud her vision and she feels his fingers tuck her hair behind her ear and stroke small circles on her forehead. She doesn't open her eyes but she keeps her senses alert, determined to finish their discussion.

Her small puffs of breath blow his chest hair the littlest bit, and it tickles her cheek and causes her to smile.

She is being so understanding and looks so innocent that he finds himself opening up, clearing his throat to continue.

"The reason I asked," he starts, licking his lips. "It occurred to me that I'm happier when I'm with you. You make the old things fun again."

She doodles the Gallifreyan symbol for 'satisfied' on his chest, still listening with closed eyes.

"I just wanted to know if you missed me sometimes, too. Because it's gotten to be rather distracting, actually."

She giggles into his chest, kissing him there softly, again. Opening her eyes, she meets his gaze and grins. "Of course I do," she says, so tenderly he's surprised she hasn't turned into a china doll. "Why do you think I break out all the time?"

A funny thought pops up in her mind and she starts to laugh on top of him, all smiles and breathy gasps. He pokes her and gives her a curious stare but she can't stop to talk, breathless. Eventually, her laughter ceases. Wiping her watery eyes with her wrist, she looks back up at him. "I send the universe to its death and you're asking me if I ever _miss_ you?"

It's his turn to smile and he pulls her in tighter, resting his hand on her lower back. He places a kiss on her forehead and nuzzles his nose into her curls, grinning like a fool. "Get some rest," he whispers into wispy hair.

She sighs and drifts off to dream, and he holds her in his arms until morning, awake the whole time.


	61. Alive With the Glory of Love

Disclaimer: All rights to the BBC, tedious, etc.

**Next chapter time, let's get excited. Okay well I seem to be experiencing some want of angst, so I promise the next chapter coming up will be full of sadness. You asked for it, hey.**

**But for now, here's a slightly-bittersweet rendition of a song I find so perfect for the Doctor and River.**

**Thanks as always, and please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Alive with the Glory of Love-Say Anything<p>

_When I watch you, wanna do you, right where you're standing; yeah.  
><em>_Right on the foyer on this dark day, right in plain view; oh yeah.  
><em>_Of the whole ghetto, the boot-stomped meadows, but we ignore that; yeah.  
><em>_You're lovely baby, this war is crazy, I won't let you down, oh no.  
><em>_I won't let them take you, won't let them take you, oh no no.  
><em>_I won't let them take you, won't let them take you, hell no no._

* * *

><p>River Song makes him want to jump out of spaceships. In a good way.<p>

There are a million things he could see or a million places he could be, but something always brings him back to her. She draws him in with an intergalactic gravitational pull, and no matter how hard he tries he cannot resist her. She is the very core of him, and he revolves around her like the earth to the sun whether he likes it or not.

The Doctor is an old man but she makes him feel so _young_, despite the guilt and regret. She takes his hand like it's a present on Christmas morning, and he _has_ always loved Christmas.

When she smiles at him, he's accomplished any goal he could ever strive for in the upturned corners of her lips; swollen red with desire and seduction. She is his bespoke temptress, and she will be his downfall. Without even trying, her captors have created his perfect assassin and perhaps that is the most ironic thing of all.

Or tragic, depending on your view.

At the moment, River is haggling with some alien shopkeeper over the price of her new gun and the Doctor is putting a lot of effort into acting cool. This is the first armory store he has been inside for a while.

Guns of all shapes and sizes and uses line the walls on precarious shelves, and he can't help but gulp uncomfortably at how easily River walks around the aisles. She struts with a terrifying familiarity, so he fidgets with the things in his pockets. He leans against a shelf and knocks over a row of alpha-meson blasters, stepping quickly aside and whistling in a casual, off-beat way. The storekeeper glares at him and River smirks, amused.

"Oy, watch it! Break it, you buy it." The storekeeper is gruff and has a scraggly, abnormally long beard that the Doctor is only slightly jealous of. River raises her eyebrows at him in playful chastisement.

River turns to the man, ready to explain. "I'm sorry sir, he's the most clumsy being you've ever met. Half the time he trips over his own feet and the other half he's tripping up stairs."

"Hey!"

"Quiet, Clumsy." she quips. "Now, where were we?"

After ten minutes of staying awkwardly still in the corner of the store, the Doctor sighs in exasperation and walks over to River, placing his hands on her shoulders from behind.

"Time to go," he says. He smiles at the clerk and tips his head downward in a nod, then reaches forwards and air-kisses both of his cheeks. Before River has time to protest, the Doctor grabs her hand and drags her out of the store and onto the sidewalk. "That's better."

She crosses her arms and glares at him, unchanging.

"Oh! You're cross with me. Well, you had me stand in a _gun_ shop and sit quietly while you went on with your business. Shoes are one thing, River, but deadly life-threatening things are quite another. Besides, I was bored."

"Bored?" she questions, incredulous. "You've the attention span of a five-year-old."

He huffs, offended. "Not true! I can last very long periods of time without tugging on your shirt tails and whining. I'm a universally certified mature and responsible adult."

Laughing, she takes his hand and leads him down the street, brushing against his side. "Is that so?" she muses, her voice deep and teasing.

He squeezes her hand and she gasps, pretending to be insulted.

"Where are we off to next, old man?"

He can't keep the smile from his face and he grins down at her, fondly proud of their witty banter. Clicking his tongue, he walks them onwards until they reach the TARDIS, blue and reliable in all her glory.

He stops them before they enter, letting go of her hand to fold his arms over his chest and lean his back against the doors. River has one hip and one eyebrow cocked and the look is so indescribably _her_ he can't refrain from smiling.

"I never did see the famed Crystal Mountains on Faxxus 11. Ever been?"

She shrugs, indifferent. "I led a dig there a few months ago, actually. Not as beautiful as you'd think."

His mouth drops and he gapes at her, incredulous. "Not beautiful? _Not_ _beautiful_? River, they are twice the height of the Himalayas and they are completely made of _crystal_! And you were _bored_?" A small hint of disgust creeps into his voice and it makes her laugh.

"I never said I was bored, honey. You were there." She winks.

"'Course I was," he mutters. "I'm always there, aren't I?"

He's pouting and she can't help but find his tendency towards self-jealousy endearing. "No need to be jealous, Doctor. You're the same person."

"Never the right one, it seems," he complains.

She frowns and steps towards him. "You're always the right one. The right one is _you_. You could be a ganger or a robot with miniaturized people inside and you'd still be the right one."

He grins and she tilts her head, inquisitive.

"What, that actually happens?"

He stays mum and shakes his head, arching his eyebrows. She sighs, rubbing her chin. "Spoilers, yes. Tell you what, though. Have you ever visited Asgard? I've heard it's lovely."

He makes a thoughtful noise, blinks. "We could go for a picnic."

"A picnic at Asgard?" She's smiling now, radiantly excited. "What are we waiting for? Let's fill up this diary, love."

She pushes past him and enters the console room, ignoring his protests and heading straight up the stairs to send them off into the vortex. His objections are only half-hearted and he falls back into one of the chairs, hiding his unease with slumped body language.

He doesn't want to fill up her diary. Not ever.


	62. Somewhere Only We Know

Disclaimer: All rights to the BBC, I own nothing but the writing, no profit or infringement is intended.

**It's absolutely pouring outside my window and I've had some requests for sadness, so hey, here you go. It's not heart-wrenching, I don't think, but more of a subtle melancholy that hopefully comes through in the tone. Tell me if I achieved that, or not?**

**Thank you all so much for all your kind reviews; they make me so happy, my gosh. Please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Somewhere Only We Know-Keane<p>

_And if you have a minute, why don't we go  
><em>_Talk about it somewhere only we know?  
><em>_This could be the end of everything  
><em>_So why don't we go somewhere only we know?_

* * *

><p>When he shows up at her doorstep with nothing but his clothes and a smile, she tugs him in by his lapels for a quick hello kiss before shoving him to the couch. <em>She needs to freshen up<em>, she says. His face is a delicious mixture of arousal and shock.

She returns minutes after, her hair more contained and denim jeans more snug. He flicks his eyes down to admire the rolling curves of her hips before locking them sternly at her face, cautious to be courteous. Carmine lips stare back at him and he gulps, anxious. She makes him so.

A glass of wine dangles between her fingers and she offers him a sip, though he politely declines. He never has been one much for wine.

"So what's the occasion, my love?"

He licks his lips unintentionally as he avoids looking at hers, fidgeting with the knick-knacks of River's apartment. "I was going to take you out for scones," he says. "Scones and tea."

She snorts. "How very British."

"_Scottish_," he mumbles.

An arched eyebrow meets his defiance. "What was that?"

"You remind me of your mother, that's all."

"Not a very smooth thing to say if you're planning on getting me out of these clothes anytime soon."

He gulps again and stands, holding out his hand. He nods to the door. "I believe we have a date, darling."

She laughs and allows herself to be escorted out, snatching the sonic from his hands to lock her flat. He gives her a weary look which is met with a grin, and before he can protest she is dragging him down the stairs, begging him follow with the heart-pounding clicks of her heels.

Once they are outside he realizes how dark out it is and how scones and tea seems such a ridiculous idea, yet he perseveres and pretends it was all part of the plan. He's hoping it is endearing.

She strides down the sidewalk with an intriguing confidence, and it occurs to the Doctor that she knows these streets like the back of her hand. He doesn't ask why, however, he's unsure if he really wants to know the answer.

River is stirring her tea-bag around with a small spoon when he finally does ask, and she blinks at him with lazy eyes and an enervated gaze.

"I'm working here as a professor at the university," she pauses. "Don't you know that?"

"I didn't realize you lived here."

She sighs, still stirring. "Where else would I live, sweetie? God knows I'd never make any of my classes if I stayed with you."

He huffs and leans back into his chair, only half-offended.

The basement they are in doubles as a bookstore and a coffeehouse, depending on the time of day. Creaking chairs scrape against worn hardwood floors as a saxophonist plays something from the twenties, a piece now considered practically ancient. The other listeners look captivated but the Doctor only smiles, more content to watch River than anything else.

Bags have appeared under her eyes but she looks almost younger than he's ever seen her, a fortunate perk of being a timelord. Aging doesn't always happen in the right order. _Just like them_.

Her hair is loose and big tonight, his favorite look, and it tumbles onto her shoulders in what must be a frustrating fashion. It amuses him how irritated she can get with her curls when all he can see is beauty, beauty, beauty.

Crimson outlines the cupid's bow of her mouth, and his own twitches as he studies hers so intently. He pictures it leaving red marks all over his body; on his lips, torso, inner thigh. He imagines lipstick kisses and then has to shift, suddenly uncomfortable.

Turning his attention from the partner beside him, he notes the variety of books the walls contain. _It's truly remarkable_, he thinks, _how books never go out of style_. It smells like books down here, like yellowed pages and blackened ink, and he sighs contentedly.

"This place is groovy."

River chuckles, eyeing him affectionately as she takes a sip of her drink. "Say that one more time and I'll erase the word from your vocabulary."

"You can't do that."

She raises an eyebrow, tests him.

"Can you?"

She rolls her eyes and sets the cup back on its saucer, leaning forward to better face him. "What have you been up to?"

"The usual."

"By which you mean the unusual?"

He narrows his eyes at her. "You love it, River, don't deny that."

"Never did," she smiles. She reaches out a hand and strokes his shoulder, soft skin brushing roughened tweed, the fabric as worn as a child's favorite toy. He returns her smile with tenderness, comfortable in her touch. He takes her hand and stands up, dropping change on the table, and leads her to the doorway.

She pats his cheek softly and takes them out into the autumn air, which, at the moment, is pleasantly chilled.

They walk in silence for what seems like hours but must only be a few minutes, and River leads him to a dimly-lit park and sits them down on a bench.

"Are you sure you're not cold?" he asks, wary of her thin sweater. She shakes her head negatively. "Tell me if you are."

Silence comes again and it unnerves him. The Doctor doesn't mind the quiet, not at all, actually, but River likes to talk and she hasn't been talking. It's more than a little worrying, and concern bleeds through on his face whether he wants it to or not.

"I'm fine, my love," she sighs, noticing his strained features. "Just tired. Work keeps me busy."

Her words are matched with a tired smile.

"Don't work yourself too hard."

"Don't take it upon yourself to save the universe."

"Well-played."

"I thought so."

They are quiet again, watching the shifting shadows of bundled figures and swaying trees as the night goes on. She lays her head on his shoulder and he nuzzles into her neck, kissing it gently.

"Remember that time you mistook an Atraxi wedding ceremony for a funeral? And you dressed entirely in black and _offered your condolences_ to the parents of the bride?"

He scoffs. "To be fair, everyone was dressed-up and solemn-looking. Just a simple mistake, really, anyone could have made it."

"And they say you're the most brilliant man in the universe."

"I am."

She grins. "Then I worry for the universe."

A beat.

"Come with me?"

She frowns, sitting up straight to look him properly in the eye. "I'm happy here."

"Never said you weren't."

"These days are precious, Doctor. Life is so normal."

He clicks his tongue disapprovingly. "Who wants normal?"

"I do. And you would too, if you could. The one adventure you can never have." Something she says hits home and his eyes glaze over, and she shrugs her hand out of her pocket to grapple with his. "Besides, it makes the abnormal things a bit more fun."

He sighs, turning back to face her. "Travel with me," he whispers.

"No."

"Then what am I going to do?"

"I'll tell you what you're going to do. You're going to walk me back up to my flat, rip my clothes off as soon as we shut the door, snog me senseless until I'm practically begging, then throw me onto my bed and show how much you love me. And when I wake up in the morning, you will already have left. Because these are my times, Doctor, not yours. As much as I love you, I will not have you spoiling that."

Her steady gaze doesn't keep him from debating. "I could stay for a while. I don't have to leave so soon."

"You'd get bored."

"I wouldn't."

It's a lie and they both know it, but he feels like it's true all the same. He wills it to be true.

She stands up now and it is her turn to offer her hand, walking them back down a leaf-littered path. They stroll down lamp-lit streets and up the stairs to her apartment, holding hands the whole way. It's oddly romantic.

He stops her at her door with a hand on her waist.

"You won't mind if I stay a while?"

Her eyes flash with something that resembles sadness, pursing her lips before replying. "You don't have to lie to me."

His hearts sink in his chest and he pushes forward into a kiss, opens the door, and then they don't say anything coherent for a long time.

When River wakes up, the other side of the bed is empty and the window is open, curtains billowing in the breeze. The scent of coffee and toast drifts to her place in bed, and when she moves into the kitchen she sees a whole breakfast spread awaiting her.

Clutching the white sheet tighter to her chest, she notices a folded note beside the only place-setting on the table.

_Got a message on the psychic paper, something urgent. I had to go, but not without making you something as a thank you. I'll see you soon._

Sighing, she settles down in her chair for breakfast by herself and wishes, not for the first time, that the Doctor didn't lie.


	63. Unchained Melody

Disclaimer: the usual, etc, BBC rights.

**OH my it's been so long and I'm really sorry but I have a week from hell as far as work goes, so thanks for the ever-lasting patience and wonderful stream of reviews.**

**THANK YOU ALWAYS, and please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Unchained Melody-The Righteous Brothers<p>

_And time goes by so slowly  
><em>_And time can do so much,  
><em>_Are you still mine?  
><em>_I need your love,  
><em>_I need your love,  
><em>_God speed your love  
><em>_To me._

_Lonely rivers flow  
><em>_To the sea,  
><em>_To the sea,  
><em>_To the open arms  
><em>_Of the sea.  
><em>_Lonely rivers sigh,  
><em>_"Wait for me, wait for me."  
><em>_I'll be coming home,  
><em>_Wait for me._

* * *

><p>A gun in her clutch, curls piled high atop her head, and a dress snug enough to make River worry about overexposure, she looks out on the landscape beneath her. The sky lights up for her tonight, the stars of the Trifluxus Galaxy glittering softly in the distance. There are miles and miles of rolling hills stretching away from her, and she sighs contentedly from her perch on the balcony. Crashing parties has always been fun, though sometimes troublesome. She doesn't mind, though, not really. There isn't much out there that River has a hard time dealing with.<p>

The clatter of the party is muted until a door swings open and music pours out into the night, though quickly gone as soon as the door shuts. It leads to an eerie noisy-not-noisy pattern that rattles her bones more than is strictly necessary.

She draws out her communicator from her clutch and dials in a message that should be received by the Doctor in, oh, five thousand years. Or about a minute, depending on your point of view.

She isn't sure which him she'll get; as a matter of fact, she never is.

Their story is oddly poetic, their back-to-front romance some sort of universe-defying anomaly that makes her life that much more entertaining. It also makes it sadder. The Ancient Greeks once noted there are only two kinds of drama: comedy and tragedy. River doesn't know which one they are.

Her feet have been aching all night and a blister is forming on her heel, but River keeps the precariously-high shoes on. They make her feel powerful. A certain influence is found when one can walk into a room and turn every male head and even a few female in her direction, and she relishes in the lingering stares that make up her night. Besides, her length of legs often distract the Doctor in the best way possible. She rather likes his ogling.

When he shows up in a clean-cut, midnight blue suit she knows she's lucked out tonight. He's still early, but not that early, and he's even willing to flirt back. God, does that man know how to _flirt_.

His glances and shaking hands set her nerves on fire in the breeze, and it's all she can do to stand there innocently and wait for his approach. He saunters over to her, arrogant and smug. He doesn't try to hide his smile.

River flutters her eyelashes at him and pouts the smallest bit, delighting in how his muscles tense the tiniest fraction as she does. It's a bittersweet victory, but it's something.

"You called?"

When he comes closer River can see just how young he actually is, and most of her hope sinks down into her chest. Tonight was never going to be a good night, it seems.

"Yes," she replies, only barely a second after what is appreciated as normal pausing time. "I'm in need of some help."

"Help?" he asks, feigning humility. "Why, that's my forte."

She sighs, feeling her fingers twitch at the idea of slapping him. That man is just so _smug _some times. "I don't care what illusions of strength you care to possess, sweetie, I just need someone who's as crazy as I am and is willing to break into a 32nd-century inaugural ball."

A frown quirks the corner of his mouth. "What for?"

She laughs, her teeth and earrings glittering in the silver light. "Spoilers."

Sighing, he rubs his hands together and raises his elbow for an escort, defeated. "Come on then, River. Let's crash a party."

Twenty minutes later she is out of breath and running with the Doctor close behind, dodging guns and blasters of various styles and accuracy. Her hands are at her sides as she runs and she feels hopelessness creep into her chest along with a pounding heart, and she wishes more than anything that the Doctor would grab her hand of his own choice and they could fly down the hall _together_. But it's too early for that. He's incomplete.

And even if he did, it wouldn't be the same. He'd be all nervous and shaky and oh, it'd be sweet but it wouldn't be _him_.

Five more minutes and they are breathless in the TARDIS, heaving heavy gasps of air as they dart around the console. She watches him pilot for a moment and smiles to herself. He flies over the grating like it's a dance, his feet barely touching the floor. His hands tangle themselves in switches and pulleys and he strokes the TARDIS every few moves or so, a habit she knows he will carry for all of this regeneration.

When he finally stops his frantic waltzing, River is patiently sitting on the captain's chair and scrolling down a page on her communicator. Her body greets a familiar mold and she feels at home for the first time in a while. The past few months she's been traveling around by herself, and though she wouldn't hasten to admit it, she's gotten rather lonesome.

"Got what you needed, did you?"

She looks up distractedly, barely glancing at him before returning her gaze to the screen. "Overall a success, I'd say. Besides you setting off security."

He pouts and waves his hands in front of him, hiding resentment with gesticulation. "You never told me they would pick up on sonic frequencies."

She rolls her eyes, still peering down at the screen in her hands. "Like you didn't figure that out the moment we stepped through the doors."

He can't help himself break out into a smile, leaning casually against the console.

"Though I suppose it wouldn't be a date with you if running wasn't involved."

He straightens, flushes, adjusts his bow-tie. "A date?"

She finally drops her communicator back into her bag after pressing for a satisfying beep, then slowly stands up and walks over to him. "Well there was formal wear, running, and I even felt a stray hand go lower on my back than what is strictly appropriate."

Blushing furiously, he splutters for a few moments before regaining coherent speech. "I've no idea what you're talking about it."

"You can try that again, if you like."

He gulps and leans away from her, almost inconspicuously, yet she catches it. It's an arrow through her chest.

"Don't worry, my love," she follows up, relieving him of his sudden tension. "You're a bit young for my taste."

There's a sudden flash of jealousy in his eyes and it surprises her, striking her speechless. His lips tighten too and all together it's a new look for him. She likes it.

"You're insatiable, Doctor Song."

"I happen to know someone who jumps at that challenge."

He flinches. "And who's that?"

She winks at him, saying nothing. She walks closer and brushes his shoulder as she studies the scanner screen, ignoring the tingling of nerves that the touch elicits. She needs to keep her cool; at least one of them does.

"You're a quiet one," he mocks, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

She laughs and turns back to him, eye glittering. "I'm _really_ not."

He blushes all over again but there's a small smile this time, and the sunken feeling in her chest lifts the tiniest bit. He scratches his cheek absentmindedly while she dials in coordinates, finishing with a swift dinging noise that echoes throughout the console room.

"Thanks for the lift, darling," she says, tapping the screen. She makes her way over to her clutch on the floor, picks it up, and strides towards the doors. She is literally reaching for the doorknob when she feels hot breath on her neck and she stops, suspended in this blissful state of his proximity.

"Where do you think you're going?" His voice is deep and raspy and River's fairly sure he doesn't even realize it.

She takes a breath in, lets it out. Steadies herself. "Back to prison. I've been out for a while now, the boys must miss me."

He lowers a hand to her arm and absently circles the underside of her wrist with his thumb, etching lost Gallifreyan speeches from so long ago on her skin. "Is that so?" he murmurs.

"Yes," she whispers.

He's moving a hand to her waist when she pushes past his grip and through the door, out into the corridor. Where her body once was is now just empty space, and the Doctor stands speechless in the TARDIS doorway.

Following her into the hallway, the Doctor sees that her back is turned to him as she replies. "Go pick up some helpless sweetheart who needs someone to tell her she's brilliant. I'm not what you need right now."

"What about what I want?"

She sighs and turns to face him, suddenly weary. He's not sure how that happened. "Come back when you're not confused."

He opens his mouth to reply but realizes she is right and shuts it, swiveling on his heels and marching back into the TARDIS.

The TARDIS dematerializes quicker than usual and then all River is left with are the green walls of Stormcage and the flashing lightning outside, reminding her that no matter what she does, a storm is always coming.


	64. Winter Winds

Disclaimer: All rights to the BBC, no profit or infringement intended, I own nothing but the writing.

**Oh wow, it's been over a week since I last posted. I do feel bad, darlings, but school and work and busy and well there's no use in excuses. But hey, at least school means that my writing should improve so that's good for you guys then, yeah? Also, I've simply been adoring Mumford & Sons recently so I apologize for all these that are thus related.**

**I'm definitely going to make an effort to churn out some more quicker, so there you go. Thank you for the loyalty and support, I hope this one is enough to apologize for the lack of daily updates.**

**Thanks as always, and please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Winter Winds-Mumford &amp; Sons<p>

_As the winter winds litter London with lonely hearts,  
><em>_Oh, the warmth in your eyes swept me into your arms.  
><em>_Was it love or fear of the cold that led us through the night?  
><em>_For every kiss your beauty trumped my doubt._

_And my head told my heart  
><em>_"Let love grow."_

* * *

><p>River Song has the hands of an old man.<p>

Worn skin stretches over sturdy bones and forms soft calluses that plague her palms and fingertips, the pads of her hands well-used over time. Sometimes he convinces himself that a small indent has formed in the shape of a gun, but he knows in his hearts that's nonsense. She has the hands of a nineteenth-century shipyard lumberer.

They tell countless stories in creases and lines and scars, terrifying adventures and escapes she only just survived. They are memoranda and keepsakes of her past, grounding her in the present. She lives off these stories that shake her so violently at night, when the only thing that calms her racing drumbeat are his hands in her hair and his whispers in her neck, reminding her to breathe. Sometimes she forgets.

But her hands are so, so small compared to his; and together they fit so perfectly.

The wind bites at their faces in the midnight weather, the cold wolves of the air hungering for exposed skin. Winter has come, as it always does, and all River can think about is a steaming mug of tea and the Doctor's limbs wrapped around her body, keeping her warm. She smiles into her scarf.

"Something funny?"

The Doctor gives her a quizzical stare, furrowing his almost non-existent eyebrows.

"Nothing, honey. Just admiring the weather."

He turns away to glance up at the sky, blinking sporadically as white flakes drop down to his eyelashes. He sighs. "I do love snow."

River shivers. "Bit cold for my taste, if I'm honest."

"Are you cold?" Suddenly he reverts to action mode, shrugging off his coat before she has even opened her mouth to reply. "Here, take this. I don't really need it."

She waves a dismissive hand and backs away from him, shaking her head. "Doctor please, you've the same biology and I won't have you catch cold because I'm a little chilly. I don't want it."

He takes a step towards her and ignores her protest. Sliding his arm around River's shoulders, he solves the problem by draping the coat around the both of them, wrapping them tightly into warmth.

"It rather suits you."

"What?" she asks.

"That face."

She arches a brow. "What face?"

"The 'he's hot when he's clever face.'"

Scoffing, she shakes her head. "Shut up."

The Doctor smiles. "_Never_." It's a challenge.

She grabs his lapels and drags him down for a kiss, his neck arching in that deliciously awkward way when he's caught surprised. His hands drop the coat and find her waist, holding her firmly in his grasp as she moves deft lips over his. They ignore the coat as it falls to the snow, too enraptured in their touch to consider anything else.

Lamplight dusts the frozen landscape in dim patches, flickering streetlights adding moving shadows to the corner of their eyes. Snow powders the ground like confectioner's sugar on a gingerbread house, soft and sweet and reminiscent of fond memories.

"So you're a shadow walker now?" She says after breaking the kiss, still slightly breathless.

He hums in amusement, smiling victoriously. "As much as you're a Silent puppet."

"Ouch," she teases, feigning injury. "That hurts." She bumps him with her hip and he laughs, gripping her tighter. The outline of her waist fits into his hands and he imagines stroking her curves under soft candlelight, with nothing between them but downy sheets and goose-feather pillows.

He swallows and shifts to accommodate his thoughts.

"But really, Doctor," she presses, biting her lip. "Is that who you plan to be?"

Frowning, he loosens his grip. "Is that not enough?"

"No, no, no," she sputters, flustered by his unexpected reluctance. "Of course it is, my love." A beat. "Is it enough for you?"

His face forms an expressionless mask as he gazes back at her, unreadable. "Of course."

"Saying it out loud doesn't make it true."

He shakes his head. "Neither does hoping to believe it, but I still do that, too."

She seems pensive as she looks at him, green eyes deep in thought. "You do a lot of things you don't necessarily want to, don't you?"

"_We_," he amends, careful not to be the martyr here. "We both do."

She laughs and bats her eyelashes at him, grinning. "Oh Doctor, you daft old man. No thing or person or mental complex makes my decisions for me. Not for a while. If I do something, it's because I want to, not because I think it's the right thing to do. Though it is nice when those two match up."

Bending down, she lifts the coat back up to his shoulders and drapes it over his back. Rubbing her hands together first for heat, she pulls the black lapels down until the coat completely covers him and she kisses his cheek before pulling away.

"I'd like to debate that, but I know even the threat of destroying the universe won't stop you."

She smiles and strokes his chin with her thumb. "Not much can, sweetie."

He's caught between the notion of kissing her again and finding somewhere warmer to be; the cold is like an ocean and it drowns him in wind-chill.

"Let's go somewhere I can feel my toes," he breathes. Without acknowledging her huffs of indignation, he removes his coat and places it on her shoulders. Taking her hand in his shaking one, he leads them down the street to an open cafe.

It's the only one still awake on the block and it teems with wintry life, smoke drifting from the chimney and yellowed light pouring onto the sidewalk. Tweed-patterned couches line the walls and little birch coffee tables separate the loungers, each one covered by wrinkled napkins, dog-eared books, and mugs with billowing steam. The Doctor opens the door and escorts her inside, much to a healthy dose of River's eye-rolling, and hangs his black coat on the coat-tree.

Pointing to a lonely couch in the corner of the room, the Doctor sends her to sit while he grabs them hot drinks. He returns shortly with one cup of tea for River and some spiced cider for himself.

Placing the beverages down on the table, he plops onto the couch and ropes his arm over the back, allowing for River to snuggle up beside him. Her hand comes to rest on his chest and her hair tickles the underside of his chin, golden curls soft as satin.

"Better?"

She nods, soaking in his proximity. He is warm to her touch and she feels satisfaction creep into her gut, filling her up completely. "Rather."

He grins proudly. "I bet you thought I had no idea where I was leading you."

She sighs and burrows further into the crook of his collarbone, basking in the feel of his shirt on her neck. "I'd follow you anywhere," she murmurs.

"Even if I jumped off a cliff?" he muses.

She chuckles, idly drawing circles on his chest. "Have done and will do again."

"You should be more careful."

"Whatever you say, Mr. I-fight-monsters-for-a-living."

He huffs and says nothing, staring over her bed of hair at an invisible spot on the wall. His fingers trace absentminded nonsense patterns on the skin of her shoulder, trailing up and down in languid strokes. Her spine tingles at his touch and she smiles into his neck.

"What you said before," he begins, distracting himself with the circles on her skin. "About suffering more than every living thing in the universe...did you mean it?"

She tenses abruptly, clenching her hands into fists before she has the practical thought to act calm. She presses her thumbs together to relieve some tension before clearing her throat, lowering her hands to her lap, and sighing. "Did you mean it when you called me wife?"

It's his turn now to be caught speechless and that's how he remains for the next few minutes, staring intently at the wallpaper across from them. His fingers have stopped their circling but he still has her wrapped up in his heat, burrowed deep into his chest.

"It's not that simple-" he starts to explain.

"Never is." She cuts him off before he can finish, and the utter acceptance and lack of resentment drives a knife in-between his hearts, making his blood run cold

His hand finds its way down from the couch to mold into her waist, dragging her closer. "You're too good to me."

She chokes on a laugh, the sound bittersweet. "Hardly. We're all sinners, my love, you and I are no exception."

"I never took you for a cynic."

She frowns. "I'm not cynical, Doctor, just realistic. You can be the worst being in the universe and still have a heart capable of love."

He shakes his head and strokes his other hand through her hair, de-tangling knots. "I beg to differ."

"Now _you_, on the other hand," she grins. "You're an old soldier who doesn't believe in gods anymore, so you made up your own and before too long developed this massive god complex to which you currently owe your present predicament."

"I didn't realize we were making fun of me."

"You never do."

Despite his forced frown, the corners of his mouth twitch upwards in a smile. "We really should go back outside. I know it's cold, but staking out the street for alien activity is hard to do when we're inside a shop."

She laughs, crinkling her nose. "I never did get the hang of doing things the right way."

"You're telling _me_."

"Shut up," she chuckles, pawing at his chest.

They sit in warmed silence for another few minutes before River shifts, sitting up straight and holding out her hand. "Come now, time boy, duty calls."

He groans and drops a hand to her hips, using his lover's knowledge to keep her here for a few moments longer. Her headstrong facade falters at his touch but she takes a breath and grabs his hand, pulling them both to stand.

"You need to learn how to have fun, Doctor Song."

"Oh Doctor," she breathes out, wearing her trademark smirk. "There's always time for that later."


	65. Girl Inform Me

Disclaimer: All rights to the BBC, no profit or infringement intended, I own nothing but the writing, etc.

**This song was suggested by 'ObscurelyScout' and was really really fun to write. After that week long period of nothing, here's a relatively daily update for all you faithful readers. Your devotion means so much to me, genuinely. I always get close to quitting this fic and then your sweet reviews inspire me to keep writing. So, thank you for that.**

**As always, thanks for reading and all of your reviews, and please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Girl Inform Me-The Shins<p>

_But your lips when we speak  
><em>_Are the valleys and peaks of a mountain range on fire,  
><em>_So let me walk these coals till you believe  
><em>_I can cut the mustard well enough,  
><em>_'Cause you know as soon as breathe we scrutinize._

* * *

><p>She's got a hiking pack on her back, mainly to amuse her students, even though the utility belt she wears around her hips carries anything and everything they could possibly need out here. The one oddly grandma-esque fanny pack that hangs off her left thigh is bigger on the inside and holds supplies ranging from a tube of her favorite crimson lipstick to the gun she bought in the Quaxi Mines. A piece of brown twine controls the omnipotent being that is her hair, tying it away from her face in an unruly ponytail.<p>

Her denim shorts are light blue and high waisted, firmly gripping her waist with the help of an espresso-colored suede belt. Her beige blouse, despite being tucked into her jeans, billows out and opens her chest to a welcoming breeze. The air is hot and thin here, and River can feel sweat sticking her shirt to her back without pretense.

A team of ten eager-eyed, jaunty youth follow her every move, cautious of the winding path that leads them to the top of the plateau. For all but one, this is their first expedition. Each has been hand-picked by River and her co-leader, all university students, and are top of their field in some way or another. River has nursed a developing affection for them as the weeks have pressed on; it has been, after all, a long two months.

Her favorites are the two near-to-identical girls as close as twins but not biologically related, with blazing blue eyes and lively brown hair. Quick-witted and coy, they remind River of herself. They're also the only two of human origin.

River's fairly sure the boy with a blue tint to his skin and the girl with a half-shaved head are both crushing on her, though she doesn't have the heart to say both a) she's madly in love with a time-traveler from the stars and b) she's had bad experiences with blue-skinned men as well as general women. She knows letting them keep their hope is a bad idea but she doesn't mind, not really, especially since she has a half a mind to believe her co-leader has the hots for her too. The longer she can keep their affections up, the sooner they will turn against each other and the more time she will have to think of a way to let them down. She can't tell them she's married; oh no, that story would take much too long and is far too complicated for a fireside chat, besides, she tries to keep mum on the subject.

For now, it's best to just let them hope.

Dust clouds swirl up in the breeze and blind them, and the troupe has to stop every fifty yards or so with the frequent mini-sandstorms. It doesn't do to have low visibility in a place like this, where a misstep could be the difference between a sure footing or a tumble down a ragged cliff.

Dusk, settling on the brink of the horizon, is a call of arms for the team to whoop out a chorus of _"It's getting dark, Professor"_ and _"Can't we stop and make camp? My legs have gone to hell and back today, Professor."_ She sighs and is about to scold them until she catches a blue glimmer in the corner of her eye, causing her to turn her head 5.94 millimeters to the left. The faint outline of the TARDIS is unmistakable to her sand-filled eyes and she waves a hand to quiet the mass, motioning to the ground.

"Alright, alright. Come on then, get to work." A relieved choir of gratitude blends the voices together and she drops her bag with a sigh, reaching into her pocket for a compass. "Thompson and I will set up on the higher altitudes, so don't get into too much trouble. We'll be an hour, tops, before we come back down to camp ."

After they've left enough distance behind them so that the shrieking laughter has turned to quiet murmurs, he speaks. "Not so bad today, River."

Thompson, her co-leader, has somehow managed to catch her by surprise, following directly behind her. His deep, rough voice is enough to make the female students on the dig swoon quicker than the desert heat but it does nothing for River, save a tiny sliver of heat in her gut. He's attractive and they both know it, but River has another man on her mind tonight and she is eager to check out the wandering, lost jumble of a man-child she knows must be close by.

She affords him a playful smile, swiveling with one hand on her waist to face him. "And yourself, Thompson.

"Call me Joseph, please. Joe."

Despite his recurring advances, River has grown quite attached to her co-leader and his various accomplishments. He's a bright mind with a heart of gold, but his legacy with the ladies is less than pleasant. Thompson has a history that rivals Casanova, and River's fairly certain he's got his sights set on her next. She allows his attempts for now, partially in a hope to keep him from the younger women on the dig. She doesn't question his morale, but she does question his ethics.

"Joe," she nods. "Why don't you set your tent down over there? Don't want to stray too close to the students, might cause a bit of chatter. Don't wander too far off, though, wouldn't want to lose you either."

"You can have me all to yourself," he grins, stepping towards her.

She leans the smallest bit away from him, enough for her to feel comfortable but not enough for him to notice. "You're dirty enough from the hike, thanks ever so much." River silently chastises herself; she can't help her nature, she's a flirt.

She notices the stubble that has grown on his chin for the past week or so. He was as clean-shaven as a baby before their dig, yet the beginnings of a beard are now sprouting on his face and River has to bite down on her lip to keep from saying anything else. If the Doctor weren't here, she might continue this affair of flirtatious nonsense. But he was and she won't, and the closer Thompson comes to touching her the more fear River has that he'll make a move.

"You're one to talk." He flashes her a practiced smile that has definitely made more than a few women fall weak at the knees.

She laughs, a chesty, full sound. "Those rumors are only half-true."

River has a vast knowledge of the talk on campus, especially of the sort that pertains to her sex life. In some stories, she's as prude as a virgin and hasn't slept with a man in over a year. In others, she's a feral temptress and one night with her is enough to forget any other woman in the universe. Even more claim she's faithfully married to some old man in a little house by the sea somewhere, someone she left to pursue her archaeological dreams and hasn't seen in months. They're all tinged with an ounce of truth and she likes to fuel them all. Either way, most men in the university have had some kind of crush on her in one form or another. She's used to it by now.

"Which halves?

She winks at him before bending down to tie her shoes, promptly standing up to assemble her tent. There's a look in Thompson's eyes that makes her shiver with several emotions of both positive and negative connotations, but she turns her back and begins to pitch her housing before she falls to attending them.

"That's not an answer." His hand lands on her shoulder and she tenses, a sinking drop falling in her stomach. She doesn't have the time for this, not tonight.

"Wasn't meant to be," she replies, nudging his hand away.

They set up their tents in silence and the sun sets as they do, and soon River can hear the crackling of fire from the nearby camp of college kids. She smiles to herself and is about to head into her tent to grab a book that is sure to enthrall the team when she is stopped by a hand on her back, turning her around to face him.

Thompson wears an expression so smug River feels her fingers twitch at the idea of slapping him, but she withholds her desire and smiles pleasantly.

"Something you want?"

He grins and slips his hand into her hair, gently tugging on a curl. "When was the last time you were touched, Professor Song?"

"_Excuse me_?"

The grin grows wider and he tugs on her hair again, this time more forcefully. "When was the last time you ignored pretense and just let loose?"

She smirks at him, arching a brow. "That's hardly professional talk, Thompson."

"Who said anything about being professional?" He breathes out, leaning closer. Suddenly, River swallows in something resembling fear and tries to step back, remembering there's still an alien time traveler on the loose who is bound to wind up near their camp sooner rather than later.

He catches her wrist with his hand and she furrows her brow, attempting to shake him off. "Thompson, we need to get down to camp."

"We don't _need _to," he says, still clutching her arm. "I've heard a few rumors, River, and I'd love to find out which ones are true. They say you can make men forget about any other woman in the universe, and I, being a curious soul, want to separate fact from fiction."

She shakes her wrist again, more violently this time, but he holds fast and ropes her in until their faces are within inches from each others. "Let go, Thompson. I'm not one of your pretty little conquests."

He places his other hand on her waist and she gasps sharply, and before she can say anything else he presses his mouth to hers and begins to suck at her bottom lip. There's a bit of bite in his kiss and he tastes like firewood but River can only sense the burning pit of hatred that is forming in her stomach, and as she strikes his chest away with her free hand she catches a glimpse of a bow-tie in the corner of her eye. She stops fighting for a moment, and reaches behind her to grapple with her belt before wrapping her hand around Thompson's back and sticking a sharp needle into a space near his spine.

Her co-leader crumples in a matter of seconds and River bends down to pull the needle out with a harsh tug, trying to look anything but flustered. For who's sake, she does not know.

"_River_?" It's his voice, oh _Lord_, it's his voice, and River takes a step forward before bursting into tears and falling to the ground.

His hands are stroking circles on her back no sooner than she falls, and River hides her face in her hands after tossing the drugged needle aside. He crouches down beside her and she flings herself into his arms, holding tightly onto his lapels as if they were the only thing keeping her from flying away.

"Doctor," she whispers, her lips and hands trembling. "Please don't, this isn't what you...oh _Doctor_."

He wraps his arms around her as best he can, pressing her into his chest as if he could take her fully into his body right here and now. Her tears flow freely for another minute or so before she wipes her eyes with her palm, choking on laughter and tears.

"I got mascara on your tweed," she mumbles.

He tilts her chin up to face him, shaking his head. "River, what happened?"

She swallows. "I'm on an university-paid expedition and he's my co-leader, Joseph Thompson. He's been flirting for weeks but I never thought..." she trails off. "I stuck him with a drugged needle. He'll be out until morning and when he wakes up this will have been a dream."

"_If_ he wakes up," the Doctor mumbles, so quiet River almost doesn't catch it.

"Don't," she says, blinking her eyes up to clear them of tears. "He isn't worth the time."

"Are you sure you're all right?"

She laughs and stands up, brushing dust off her thighs. "Absolutely fine. The crying was not anticipated, though, if I'm honest. But I can handle myself out here. Nothing's too dangerous."

"River, he tried to-"

"But he didn't." There's something in her tone of voice that stops him cold, and he swallows before walking over to the crumpled man and turning him stomach-up. The Doctor strokes his own chin softly then kicks the sleeping man in the side, hard, once, then turns to River with a smile.

"Looks like he'll have a bruise from the climb up."

River sends him a confused, aroused look before strolling over to him and taking the Doctor's hand. "My man of peace," she murmurs.

"No one hurts you without going through me, first," he says loudly, fiercely. This is a protective side to him that River seldom sees.

"My love, no one hurts me without going through _me_," she chuckles. "That drug-induced sleep will be the worst rest he'll ever have. Poor dear," she clucks.

The Doctor grips her hand with his, interlacing their fingers. His stare is stony and uncompromising when she looks at him, and it sends a thrill to her lower abdomen. "Tell me now why I shouldn't throw him in the middle of a supernova, because, honestly, that plan doesn't seem half as idiotic as it should."

Her face softens and she lifts her free thumb to brush his cheek. She sighs, curling her body inwards for a hug. "He's a nice guy, Doctor. Save that for a slave-labor CEO."

"Nice?" he scoffs. "River, he _kissed_ you! Without your consent! And who knows what else he would have done had you _not_ been carrying that needle; which, to be frank, I'm a little surprised you had in the first place-"

"But he didn't," she repeats. "Field work. This happens."

"River, you can't just-"

She raises a hand to his chest, silencing him. "Drop it, okay? Please."

"Is this what you do when I'm not around?"

"You know I'm an archaeology professor. I lead expeditions with teams of promising young students, all of whom are-"

"River."

She drops her gaze to the ground, studying the rocks intently. There are some things she doesn't want or need the Doctor to know. "I lead a dangerous life." She shrugs. "There are worse things to deal with than men. Besides, I don't need you fighting my battles for me. Nor do I want that for you."

"And I suppose I don't have a say in the matter?"

She grins, turning her gaze back to face him. "Nope; none."

Before he can retort or change his mind to harm Thompson, River sweeps the Doctor up in a deep, longing kiss that leaves him breathless. When they break, he swallows heavily and places a peck on her cheek. "If it happens again, his side won't be the only thing getting kicked."


	66. Ruby Tuesday

Disclaimer: Nothing owned but the writing, all rights to the BBC, no profit or infringement intended.

**Hey guys! This song was suggested by 'ObscurelyScout' so here's the update, and there are no excuses this time to hold back from the irregular updates. I'm better than I was before!**

**Thank you as always, and please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Ruby Tuesday-The Rolling Stones<p>

_Don't question why she needs to be so free,  
><em>_She'll tell you it's the only way to be.  
><em>_She just can't be chained  
><em>_To a life where nothing's gained  
><em>_And nothing's lost,  
><em>_At such a cost._

* * *

><p>Everywhere he wanders he sees blonde curls and red lips, sharp heels and curving waists. He sees smoking guns and swirling dresses; he sees women laughing breathlessly. In his line of work, he stands by as true love and friendship face the ultimate tests. The way he lives, humanity must be the best or die.<p>

He looks on in a grandfatherly way when the young couple embraces, when the old married pair sends each other knowing glances, when the child grabs her mother's hand. He sees family, love, and relationships everywhere he goes and all he can think of is River.

She's there in the dead of night, in the sunlight glimmering on a roaring sea. Clouds curl like her hair into white whisps and drown out the sun. He hears high-heeled footsteps behind him wherever he goes. But she is at home, in prison; and he is alone.

The TARDIS library seems empty without her wine glass on the coffee-table, and the old girl refuses to put away River's tea mug from its place on the counter. Consequently, the Doctor hasn't stepped foot in the library or kitchen now for about a week, and both his brain and stomach are starved.

He wishes he could talk to Amy and Rory more than anything in the universe but he knows he can't. They both think he's dead and besides, she's their _daughter_. And now they're _married_. There's one topic he wouldn't mind avoiding for another few centuries or so. Yet the TARDIS is eerily vacant without at least one Pond's presence.

Not that he hasn't been enjoying himself. Well maybe not precisely at the moment, seeing as though he is currently sitting on a cold floor with his back pressed up against a stone wall in some dank room resembling a dungeon. There's a girl of about nineteen with him in the present, and they've been combing through the halls of this forsaken castle for about an hour, looking for her father. That is, they _were_, until a random guard caught wind of the girl's perfume and locked them up down here to await some sort of trial.

A pretty, petite young girl with unruly brown hair and jade green eyes has been his companion for the last few hours. She's nice enough and brave enough, and she's got a head on her shoulders that's far sharper than many a powerful man twice her age. All in all, she's proved herself to be a good friend and he's grown fond of her sassy charm. But he has yet to ask why she's on this planet and lost in this castle in the first place.

"This is no place for wandering alone by yourself," he says. She sits across from him but the room is so small their feet are pushed up against each other, and neither can move around without disrupting the other.

She flushes in embarrassment, waving her hands defensively. "It's not _my_ fault. My father has always wanted to see the estate's library."

"Sounds like he's a good man, your dad."

"He is." She fingers her necklace absentmindedly, twirling the silver locket betwixt her fingers. "I love him very much," she adds thoughtfully.

"I promise we'll find him, Aarti. Don't worry."

She smiles sadly, the gesture not quite reaching her eyes.

"How did you get a name like Aarti, anyways? Bit unusual."

She giggles, dropping the locket. "Coming from _the Doctor_. It's short for Artemis. My father loves mythology, especially those of the Ancient Greek. But my mother was Indian and she wanted something from her culture, so they settled for a nickname. I think that was the only thing my mother ever settled on," she says softly.

"What happened to your mum, Aarti?"

The girl's fingers return to her necklace, tracing the indentations on the exterior of the silver heart. "She died ten years back, during the war. She died fighting the invasion. The generals say she was the most courageous soldier they ever knew."

"I'm sorry. You must have loved her very much," he says, after a moment's pause. "I bet she was magnificent."

A sad little smile forms on her face again and the Doctor realizes, for her, it's a common expression. It saddens him more than it should. Aarti looks up at him, fighting tears, and gives him a half-hearted, courageous grin. "She was the _best_."

They sit in silence for a while as the Doctor flips his sonic open again and again and scans the room. There are no open air holes, the walls are too high to reach the window, and the lock is primitive but utterly steady without anything of immense force. There's always a way out, but it looks to him like they're stuck.

"What about you, Doctor? Have you got any family?"

He stops the glowing green abruptly, pocketing his screwdriver. "I used to, a long time ago. Then I lost them."

"Was it a war?" Her eyes are big and wide as saucers, waiting for his response.

"Yes," he nods. "A war that spanned across all of space and time. Across the universe."

"So bigger than this one?"

He laughs, bitterly. "Much bigger." He pauses, readjusts his pose.

"And you've got no one else?"

He drops his gaze to the floor, avoiding her piercing eyes. How is it that this nineteen-year-old girl can make him turn into an ashamed child? "Well, I do have one friend."

"Just one?"

He ignores the witty remark and continues. "Her name is River."

"It's a 'her,' is it? What's she like? How did you meet? Are you in love?"

He can't help but laugh at the way the girl's face lights up at the prospect of love. Her voice has gone all dreamy and her cheeks are flushed red with a newfound excitement. He affords her a sly grin. "I met her in a library, actually. _The_ Library. The biggest library in the universe."

"The stories you have, Doctor. They're enough for a sane person to call you mad."

"And you? Are you sane?"

"I haven't decided yet." She laughs, toying with one of her stray ringlets. "You only answered one of my questions."

He smiles again. "If we could just channel that adolescent energy into escaping from this cell, then maybe we'd-"

"Oh please," she interrupts. "All we have to do is shift our weights together and heave the cell door from the bottom up, and the ironwork should break right off. It's rusted at the top corners. You probably can't see it from your angle."

He hadn't noticed that. "What, you've known all this time and you decided you'd tell me _now_?"

She shrugs, indifferent. "I only just realized the rust when you were flicking that green stick about like it was a fairy godmother's wand."

His mouth drops down and he gapes at her, indignant. "It's a sonic screwdriver!"

"Either way it's stupid."

He sighs, attempting to stand up. It's an impossible feat without her help and he sticks his hands out for her aid, but she calmly refuses. "What are you waiting for? Let's get out of here!"

"I'm not helping until you tell me about River."

"What, _now_?"

She nods curtly, motioning for him to stay sitting. "We've got a while until the guard comes back."

"This isn't funny."

"I'm not joking."

Releasing a long-suffering sigh, he leans back against the wall. Folding his hands atop his knees, he relents. "Just for a little, then. I have a feeling you won't budge if I don't."

"Keen instincts you've got there."

She's smirking and it reminds him of River and he decides it wouldn't hurt, just this once, to talk to someone. It's been a long time since he's had this kind of conversation. "What do you want to know?"

She pauses, mulling it over. "Who is she to you?"

He sighs again, running his hands through his hair, which, by now, is properly mussed up and floppy. "I don't know. I'm not really sure."

"How can you not know?" The stare she gives him is uncompromisingly stern.

"Well," he begins, licking his lips. "We keep meeting in the wrong order. We're both time travelers. It's complicated."

"Time travel?" It's a whisper that lights up a curious interest in her eyes. "I thought that hasn't existed since the Brahmin Brotherhood outlawed it years ago."

He winks at her. "I'm not from around here."

"Where are you from?"

"Are we talking about me or River?"

It's her turn to sigh and she sidles up against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest. "Continue."

"Next question."

"Do you love her?" The question, blunt as it is, astounds him less than he would have expected. What interests him more, in fact, is his immediate reaction.

A belfry choir of negation doesn't sprout up, instead, quite the opposite. A birdsong of _'yes, yes of course' _harmonizes in his mind and he has to physically shake his head to clear the thoughts. After much deliberation, he answers. "I think I might."

"Might? How much?"

He laughs, entertained by the girl's fancy. "I love her very much."

"Does she know?"

He stays silent for a few moments, pondering the question. It's an honest one and completely legitimate, but he can't seem to grasp the right words to form a reply. His mouth drops open and he is about to respond when the click of heels echoes throughout the adjacent corridor, rendering him speechless.

"Why don't you ask her?" River stands proud, tall, like an elegant, fiery queen with a smoking gun in one hand and a bobby pin in the other. The blue dress she wears hugs her waist and chest tightly, though scorch marks and a hurried hem tell the Doctor the bottom has been ripped clean off. "Hello, sweetie."

"_River_?"

She smiles, walks over to the bars. She stops in front of their cell and waves a flimsy hand towards the lock. "This is amusing. Usually it's the other way around. Who'd you piss off this time?"

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough," she breathes out. Her hands curl around the iron bars and, tentatively, his fingers curl around hers. "I was wondering why your coordinates were so time-specific this time."

"This is Aarti," he says, nodding to the girl still sitting in the corner. At the sound of River's heels he somehow found the agility to bolt straight up on his own, without the help of the young woman. "We're looking for her father."

River smiles again, her gaze not breaking from his face. "Lovely name, Aarti. Hindu, is it not?"

"Y-yes," she stammers, caught off-guard by the mature, curly-haired woman currently standing outside their cell. "You're River?"

"Doctor River Song, archaeology buff and smoldering seductress. That's me."

The Doctor blushes and removes his hands from hers, gesturing to the lock. "Mind?"

She pouts and fiddles with the lock before letting it swing open, freeing the prisoners of their dank cell. "And here is where I take my leave."

"What?" The Doctor and Aarti walk out of the cell and exchange confused glances as River studies her wrist intently, dialing little buttons with the tip of her finger.

"I was in the middle of an excavation, my love, when you bombarded me with your little psychic notes and your _'oh I promise I'll really appreciate it, you'll see'_ winks. I have a team to get back to."

Aarti's eyes dart quickly between the Doctor and River, scanning their faces for some kind of tender affection. All she sees is complacent satisfaction and sheer confusion. "Leaving so soon?"

River laughs and it's the first time she properly notices Aarti since her arrival. "Clever girl. One of yours?"

He sends Aarti an affectionate grin, blinking slowly. "Not yet."

River grins broadly, leaning forwards to pat the girl on the arm. "First meeting, how exciting! When he asks, say no. Worst decision you'll ever make." She pulls away, still smiling. Tapping her wrist three more times, she turns back to face the Doctor. "I'll be seeing you."

"Wait!" the Doctor practically shouts, the exclamation so loud it reverberates throughout the hall. "I haven't even-"

"Sh, my love," she whispers, placing a finger on his lips. "You'll see me soon."

But before she can disappear into a dizzying array of flashing light and crackling noise, he wraps her in his arms and shoves her back against the wall, kissing her soundly. She reacts fiercely, her fingers coursing through his hair as she sighs into his mouth, groaning at the contact. He holds her hair and hips firmly as he kisses her, forgetting the lost girl standing awkwardly on the side. He pulls back slowly, dragging her bottom lip towards him, and before he can say any other word, she vanishes, sound and smoke where her body used to be.

After a moment of silence, Aarti speaks up. "I think she knows."

He laughs loudly, sauntering over to where the young girl stands. "Aarti, have you ever dreamt of the stars?"


	67. Doctor My Eyes

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the writing, all rights to the BBC, no infringement or copyright intended.

**Hello charming readers! There was such a lovely surge of reviews last chapter and I can't thank you enough; your sweet comments make my day every time. This song was suggested by 'ElphieUpland' and was perfect for some good ol' angst. Lovin' the angst, these days. (Also, I wrongly miscredited the suggester at first but now it's right, so a public apology for THAT)**

**As always, thank you so much for your feedback and support and please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Doctor My Eyes-Jackson Browne<p>

_'Cause I have wandered through this world  
><em>_And as each moment has unfurled  
><em>_I've been waiting to awaken from these dreams.  
><em>_People go just where they will,  
><em>_I never noticed them until I got this feeling  
><em>_That it's later than it seems._

_Doctor, my eyes,  
><em>_Tell me what you see.  
><em>_I hear their cries;  
><em>_Just say if it's too late for me._

* * *

><p>Leaves rustle over pavement the color of stormy skies, the sound of dry paper crinkling again and again. A quiet wind dances through the tree branches, bending and twisting in a monotonous ballet. Empty cars litter the streets like waste, forgotten and unwanted in this burden of a world. A Pompeii-like planet, this world stopped mere hours ago and hasn't moved since.<p>

River Song wipes moon-dust off of her thighs with the back of her hands, allowing dust to mingle with grass-stains and dried blood. For once, though, the blood is hers.

On a dead planet, she finds no solace in the wake of ghosts.

River hops down from the sidewalk and strolls through the relic-buildings, trailing fingers over various items left preserved from the war. There's always a war, somewhere, always blood-lust and pride and never-ending violence. If the universe has taught her nothing, it's taught her that.

She squats down beside a burned frame of a hospital, her fingers sifting through mud, rubble, and what might possibly be human hair. This war was not her doing, nor was she the cause; for this, she is grateful.

She doesn't mean to show up in the middle of full-scale planetary nuclear armament, it just sort of happens. Her vortex manipulator short-circuited, not for the first time, and brought her here. A variety of mechanics have insisted there's nothing wrong with her wrist-sized time machine, but River's not convinced. Perhaps it's developing a mind of its own, which is not strictly unheard of. She wonders if it disregards wants for needs, now. Wonders if the TARDIS energy in her veins has anything to do with it.

Bright blue in the middle of fallen rocks distracts River from her thoughts and she picks herself up to run over to it, quickly working to pull heavy cement away from the hinted cobalt. River tugs and lifts, tugs and lifts, until the blue surfaces the pile and she freezes, dropping the latest cement piece to the ground.

She stares at the blue for a moment and time seems to stop, and River's intake of breath slows to a stand-still. The winds halt their wailings and the leaves rest in mid-air as they rumble over the sidewalk like tumbleweeds in the desert. Colors blur together and all River can see are shades of gray, and the world itself has become a thunderstorm. But this blue prevails in the frozen landscape and catches River's attention, drawing her gaze to the little cerulean hint poking out from a pyramid of rocks.

Reaching a tentative hand forwards, she plucks her treasure from the cement heap and brings it to her eyes for closer inspection.

A child's mitten fits into the palm of her hand like a stone to be thrown across the water, deceivingly cold and smooth. Individual stitches have been cosseted and admired and River can _sense_ the amount of love that was put into the effort of making this glove. Each knot weaves the cotton entity together into a bright blue handshake, though the inside is worn and fraying. This mitten belonged to someone who loved it, once.

River curls her fingers into a fist, still clutching the child's accessory, and turns her expression as stony as the heap from which she withdrew the mitten. If she lets any emotions in, they will drown her.

Taking paced breaths and all the time she needs, River patiently waits out the tide of grief bound to overwhelm her. Among other things, she is a psychopath, and she can reject emotions if she so chooses. But the years have changed her and forever faded the line between control and humanity, and River is no longer the weapon she once was. She isn't a lot of things, anymore.

After finding the ability to breathe again, River opens her eyes, resuming time and howling winds as leaves tumble over vacant gravel.

She lowers her fist to her stomach and holds the mitten to her abdomen, wishing she had someone to talk to. Without warning, a distant cough sounds behind her and she is running, running to the source. She leaps over pot-holes and darts through burned buildings to discover the cough, a noise soft enough to have her believe it never really existed. Is she going mad?

Who is it but _him_, bent over and coughing up blood by the side of the road. A blue police box shimmers fifty yards behind him, the top blackened and smoking.

She dashes to his side and lays a hand on his shoulders, his entire body tensing at the contact. He recoils away from her touch and blinks at her face, unable to discern her worried visage through tears and smoke-stained eyes. After a few moments something clicks and his face softens, then before she can speak he is standing and walking away from her, fists clenched by his side.

Her stomach drops and her throat contracts but she stands herself up somehow, despite lacking the ability to breathe. She walks quickly to his side and reaches for his hand but he whips it away from her, almost smacking her in the process. He stops his gait and turns to face her whilst wearing a countenance like none she's ever seen.

"Doctor?" she asks, because she can't quite believe this is him. She's seen him angry, seen him hopeless, seen him writhing in agonizing pain; but never, not once, has she ever seen him look so empty.

The bow-tie and braces affirm her suspicions but his eyes are holes, fathomless chasms that have forgotten how to feel. He blinks at her once, twice, and stands like a limp piece of spaghetti. He slumps forwards and uncurls his fingers, looking down at her. He's a tattered rag doll.

She raises her free hand to caress his cheek and he slaps his own to hers as fast as lightning, and then the emotions flood his eyes and she has to physically bite her lip to keep from crying out.

He pleads with a silent mouth and broken tongue, ancient eyes and a creaking heart that tugs on her heartstrings with a force so intense she can't help but let her eyes water. Emotions get the best of her, once again.

She wants to kiss him but somehow here she feels it would be sacrilege, to love where so many others have lost. Instead, she talks.

"It's not your responsibility to fix the universe," she says, her voice close to breaking. "Only help."

His eyes flicker across her face for some kind of approval and return to hers, locking their gaze. "Chaos-"

"-is the natural order of the universe," she interrupts. "All things fall to disorder."

"To ruin," he scoffs, his amendments hoarse in his throat. "All things must fall, and to ruin."

She shakes her head, more to herself than to him. "Disorder is not ruin." She remembers the mitten and brings it in between them, unfolding her grasp to showcase the knitted blue now slightly damp with River's sweat.

"What's that?"

She shrugs, turning the glove over in her palm. "I found it in some rubble. A child's glove."

"The universe is cruel," he says suddenly, shifting his gaze to stare past her at something invisible yet somehow incredibly interesting.

"No," she lies.

Madness courses through his veins and he grabs her hand with his, jerking it downwards as he fists her hand and the mitten in his grasp. "_Have you ever wanted to be a mother_?"

River's throat dries and she chokes out her plea. "Don't."

He tightens his grip around her wrist and rage flashes across his face before he responds. "_Now_ tell me the universe isn't cruel," he spits.

Why does he want to break her? Why would he cling to _that_, frolic through the tattered remains of a hopeless war lost long before it ever started? Why taunt her with such dealings of heart and desire? But she needs to be strong for him, she must be, because right now he is not. So she swallows her pain, and, with quivering lips, replies. "The universe...isn't cruel."

His grip loosens and he drops her hand, his eyes relinquishing their anger and changing to reluctant guilt. Shame becomes him.

She can't bring herself to touch him, so repulsed by the idea she even takes a step back, her feet clinging to the pavement. "If I can still believe that, so can you." Absentmindedly, she places a hand over her stomach in pointless protection. The Doctor notices and looks away, choked on disregarded dreams and impossible fantasies.

"Maybe not so impossible," he tries, breaking into a forced smile. He's trying to be strong for her and it's so sweet that River reaches out to hold him, cradling his face in her hands.

"Let's go somewhere beautiful," she says. "Because we're still breathing. Because we _can_."

His smile, though half-hearted, reaches his eyes. "I think I know a place."

River laughs and finds it in herself to smile, thankful the storm has passed. "And there's nothing a good cup of tea can't fix."

"I _do_ love tea."

She laughs again and this time he joins her, and then they are inter-locking fingers as they weave their way over to the TARDIS. They find comfort in each other's sadness and the other's smile.

When they get inside the TARDIS, they fight over the proper way to make tea, the music choice, and who gets the big, worn armchair. Ultimately, they decide to share it. After a day of people making poor decisions, it's nice to make a good one.


	68. Birds

Disclaimer: All rights to the BBC, no profit or infringement intended (I own nothing but the writing)

**Hello darlings! Here's one that's got a few past references, something I haven't done before so I thought I'd give it a shot. Brownie points to whomever catches them.**

**You guys brighten my day and liven up my week, so please keep on being your generous, sweet selves. And I love when new people write in and tell me how they're enjoying the series. As always, thank you for everything and please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Birds-Kate Nash<p>

_Well, she was wearing a skirt  
><em>_And he thought she looked nice,  
><em>_And yeah, she didn't really care about anything else  
><em>_'Cos she only wanted him to think  
><em>_That she looked nice and he did._

* * *

><p>There must be at least forty other women in the room but the only one he can properly see has blonde hair and killer heels. They are red and match her lips, both coinciding with the drink sloshing around in her glass. She grins at something the man next to her has said and she leans into the woman by her side, whispering a private joke that elicits an eruption of laughter from the group. They all watch her with stars in their eyes and he feels nothing but understanding, him doing much the same. River Song is beautiful.<p>

The room teems with vivacious cackling, hysterical chatter that booms rich and deep echoes throughout the space. People are joking, throwing their heads back in laughter, clutching to each other in that basic need for physicality. His current companion stands beside him, eager-eyed, dressed head-to-toe in time-period garb. She blends in perfectly, like she always does, and the Doctor gives her a nod that lets her know she can go off on her own now, can explore humanity in the most personal sense. She flashes him her biggest smile and is off to the races, snaking her way through the crowd to talk to some random guy with a jelled quiff. The Doctor smiles, amused.

He settles himself on a barstool and is content to watch River, his eyes following her every move. She gesticulates more with each swig of drink and the Doctor is surprised to discover that River is a cheap date. A server replaces her wine glass and he has the old-lover urge to walk over and take it away, but common sense and his desire to admire her keeps him planted firmly where he is. There's no point in ruining her good time.

Taking a flask of champagne from a young girl who walks by, he stops the server with a quick nod of his head and a question. "So who's that woman over there?"

The penguin-decorated woman does a double-take before smiling at him, flashing blue eyes over to where the Doctor points with an outstretched finger. "No idea. I think the ambassador brought her."

"The ambassador?" he says, disbelieving. "Of, um, where exactly?"

She gives him a curious look, as if he's got something strange on his face. "The ambassador of the 12th moon, of course. The whole city's been waiting his arrival for the past few months."

"Right right, of course, sorry. Bit slow. And um...the 12th moon of where?"

"Here," she states, matter-of-factly. "The 12th moon of Fallapitora."

Knowledge clicks in his mind and he slaps his forehead, shaking his head with incredulity. "Fallapitora, brilliant! If _that's_ the ambassador, than this means it's 5178 and you've got two more years until..." he trails off, stroking his chin absently. "Well, not going to spoil that big thing. Wouldn't be any fun." He smiles at the girl.

"Must get to serving the other guests, Sir," the server says, slightly askew. "It was nice talking to you."

He sends her a salute. "And you, Miss."

She gives him a quizzical, entertained smile and mutters _'go easy on the drink, why don't you'_ before walking away towards the kitchen. It makes him laugh out loud and he's still grinning when he turns back to River, suddenly aware of her eyes locking with his. She winks, almost imperceptibly, and he straightens purposefully, pulling on his bow-tie. He plays up a _'who, me?'_ act until she mutters something to the group, leaving the crowd doubled-over in guffaws.

She makes her way over to him slowly, each step a premeditated ballet pirouette. Her earrings bob and her hair sways in time with her hips and the whole world seems to stop around her as she walks, and suddenly she is standing right in front of him, smirking.

"Hello, sweetie."

He leans against the bar, arms outstretched, "And who might you be, this lovely eve?"

She laughs, amused. "Tonight, I'm the guest of the 12th moon ambassador. The name's Amelia Owens."

"Amelia," he says, trying the name out on his tongue. "Like a name-"

"-in a fairytale," she finishes. "I know."

"I'm sure that you do, Miss Owens," he takes a sip of his champagne then spits it out, still trying to act cool. He fails.

"Please," she crows, low and chesty. "Call me Amy."

He tips his top hat down, grinning like a fool. He waves River over to his side and she acquiesces, coming to stand by him. He puts his arm further on the edge of the bar, close enough to her that his fingers ghost lightly on her waist. She shudders.

Nodding towards a corner of the room, he nudges River with his forearm. "See that girl over there?"

His companion at the time, Annie, is currently swatting an aggressive man away and smiling like a proper coquette at the one from earlier. She looks stunning in a forest green dress and straightened brown hair, but the Doctor doesn't notice. Luckily, she got over him rather quickly and has moved onto bigger and better things. He's glad; he likes Annie.

"Oh, Annie!"

He turns to her, surprised. "That far along, then?"

"The island rescue was last week for me."

"Hm," he says. "You really could have been nicer."

She waves a dismissive hand and flashes a passing man a charming smile, and the Doctor tightens his ghost grip on her waist. "Feeling possessive, are we?"

"Me? Never," he shrugs. "So what's the occasion?"

"Well," she begins, clearing her throat. "Apparently there's one of the last remaining Silurian texts upstairs. I was planning on grabbing it before eleven and catching a ride from some time agent with a hovercraft, but I wouldn't mind sleeping in your room tonight."

He looks at her, puzzled. "Don't you mean _your_ room?"

"No," she shrugs. "I mean yours."

He blushes like the intergalactic adolescent he is and she smiles, brushing his floppy hair underneath his hat. She watches as facts and figures flash through his eyes, watches as he scopes out the architecture and exits. His gaze barely lingers on Annie before returning to River, eager and excited.

"Those Silurian scriptures deserve some attention, I think."

She winks, nudging him with her hip and a promise. "Five minutes."

Six minutes later the Doctor is gripping tightly to Annie's hand as the threesome fly down the corridor, running hard to reach the TARDIS. River snaps before he can get the sonic out and the doors swing open, and in they go. No sooner than he, River is dialing coordinates into the typewriter with a wrapped package underneath her arm. Annie heaves, breathless, and the Doctor is grinning from ear-to-ear. He can't help himself.

"Hello again, Annie," River calls out, still focused on the console.

Annie nods, caught between polite and reserved. "Hi."

The Doctor knocks River to the side and finishes the take-off sequence, resulting in a hearty scowl from River. He waves her aside, thoroughly concentrating on the time rotor.

"How have you been?" River asks, pleasantly. She claimed her stakes last time, and for her there is no remaining animosity.

The doe-eyed girl shrugs, gesturing towards the Doctor. "Well. Traveling."

River laughs. "I would hope so. You know, I don't think we got off to a good start last time. And darling, you look lovely, don't you. Give us a twirl?"

Hesitantly, the girl does a 360 and River claps in admiration, pointing at the shoes.

"I'm _loving_ the heels."

Loosening up, Annie smiles. She nods to the Doctor. "_He_ thought they were a bit extravagant, but I said I liked them. Besides, they go with the dress. Bought them in some marketplace...sounds like a desert."

"The Marketplace of Savannah?" River questions. Her eyes go soft at the memory and she looks happily at the youth, much friendlier than last time.

Annie sighs. "Something like that, I think. So...what have you been up to?"

"Oh, the usual, prison. The boys got new uniforms, though, which has done wonders for the view. I don't mind the shift changes anymore."

Annie laughs and the Doctor blushes and River smirks; a comfortable silence envelops the three travelers as they look around the room contentedly. The Doctor is the first to speak up. "What next?"

River ignores him, turning to the brown-haired girl beside her. "Is he still insisting on hot chocolate _with_ a mint leaf after a particularly exhausting adventure?"

Her eyes light up and she giggles, nodding her head in fervent affirmation. "All the time! I don't know what's gotten into him. And with you...does he do that, you know, I'll tell you the plan later thing, it's not really important that you know it right now?"

"Infuriating, isn't it? Couldn't you just slap him sometimes?"

"Woah, woah, woah," he exclaims, coming down the ramp to where the two ladies stand. "When did this turn into let's make fun of the Doctor day?"

"The moment you put on that top hat." Annie decides, and the women burst out laughing as the Doctor stands by, aghast. He waves his hands in the air for a moment, trying hard not to splutter, then sighs and trudges back up to the console. River follows him, tapping him on the back.

"Oh sweetie, we're only teasing," she coos, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck.

He shakes his head and turns to face her, a pout that rivals her mother on his lips. "Remind me never to let you two near each other again."

Annie snorts and lays her hand on the railing, calling out a chuckled goodnight before heading off into the ship. Now alone, River shifts her attention back to the Doctor and smiles. "She's sweet."

The Doctor stares off in the direction of the young girl, a wistful simper on his face. "Yeah, she is."

"But?" she arches her eyebrows; she knows that face of his.

He sighs, threading his fingers through his hair. "I have a nagging feeling she's going to leave me for a _boyfriend_. Sooner rather than later."

"Jealous?" River teases, flattening the lapels of his jacket. "How cute."

He ignores her, taking the parcel wedged between her side and her biceps. "All that running and shooting for a Silurian text, eh?"

She huffs in mock-injury, pretending to glare at him. "I like history," she says, as if that is an explanation within itself. He grins. "If you make a joke about playing with ancient artifacts, I promise I will slap you." He frowns.

"What is it you were saying about my room?"

River takes the texts from his grip and drops it on the pilot's couch, smiling coyly. "I hear your bed-frame was constructed in the fifteenth century."

"Only one way to find out, now is there?"


	69. A Better Place to Be

Disclaimer: Doctor Who is owned by the BBC, no profit or infringement is intended by this work of fiction.

**Hello faithful readers! There was a lovely few of you reviewers who gave me suggestions, criticisms, and love last chapter and I appreciate all of your comments equally. You guys should tell me what you want because THAT is what I want to write, and I love changing and improving to fit your ideas. Please keep them coming my way. This song was suggested by 'ObscurelyScout.'**

**Honestly, I've been neglecting this series recently because I just started up a multi-chapter fic over on LJ (.) that is an AU medieval theme; what can I say, I've been reading _A Game of Thrones_ and it really has me in that spirit. It's the first story I've written that has been a longer continuation of writings, so if you could check that out I'd be super grateful. Don't feel obligated obviously by my shameless self-promotion, but if you like it that would make me awful happy and possibly encourage me to write some more? For both stories?**

**Anyways, thank you as usual for being so kind and supportive, and please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>A Better Place To Be-Harry Chapin<p>

_You see, she was so damned beautiful that she could warm a winter frost.  
><em>_But she looked long past lonely, and well nigh on to lost.  
><em>_Now I'm not much of a mover, or a pick-em-up easy guy,  
><em>_But I decided to glide on over, and give her one good try;  
><em>_And Lord, Lord, Lord she was worth a try._

* * *

><p>He runs into her in the most unexpected of places; or rather, she runs into him. Then runs right past him. It takes the Doctor a moment to realize she doesn't recognize him when she flies by in killer heels and a flowing dress. The wind catches in the fabric and it swirls around her like petals on a flower, and has she ever looked more beautiful than when she's escaping? Well, if he thinks about it, maybe in the middle of the night, when he has her on her back and she-<p>

There's time enough for that later, and right now it looks like she's in trouble. He should probably help.

He scopes the streets for something resembling a foe and sees no one formidable, save the old lady inching along the sidewalk with her equally-ancient walker. She might be the one River is running from, but he doubts it. Then again, he's been wrong before.

But then a chorus of shouting men comes into view and he switches his suspicions from little old whomever-she-is to turn and face the oncoming forces. Each man is sufficiently breathless from what seems to have been a long jog, and they are barely clutching their artillery as they trudge after a curly-haired woman with an inhumane amount of stamina. To be fair, they probably don't realize her genetics.

The Doctor is about to pull his charming act and stop them for a chat when they actually halt themselves and shrug tiredly, turning away to walk back the way they came. _That was easier than I anticipated_, he thinks.

He swivels on the spot and makes up his mind to follow her; after all, what is she doing _here_ in a party dress? What possible reason has she to be in a floor-length evening gown on a desert-y deserted planet three-hundred years in her past? He's arrived to see the midnight meteor shower that's supposed to be the longest in recorded history, but he hadn't expected there to be many people attending other than himself. So far his people calculations have been correct, save the arbitrary old lady and large police force. Other than that it's been very few.

Yet on the subject of River, in all honesty he doesn't really mind the heels.

He locks the TARDIS with a clap and heads off in the direction she raced, whistling to himself as he walks by few shops and even fewer people. The pavement turns into dirt and the dirt into grass, and soon he is strolling up a green hill with the afternoon sun beating down on his back. He stops to survey his surroundings and decides that this spot is where he will be come midnight, then continues his trek down the hill in search of River.

He comes across her soaking her feet in a brook, her shoes cast aside and her hair unfurling from its bun. Her skin is flushed and her chest heaving, her eyes concentrating hard on the scrubbing of some blisters. He clears his throat and before he can open his mouth she's pointing her gun at his chest, then she smiles in recognition and drops the weapon to return her attention to her ankle.

"Fancy seeing you here," he says, spreading his palms out in front of him. "And dressed for some occasion?"

She nods, not lifting her head from her current task. "Yes hello, sweetie. Bit busy at the moment."

He harumphs and plops down by the brook-side, crossing his legs underneath him. His present angle has her face blocking out the sun, and golden light surrounds her in a chestnut-ginger halo that takes his breath away. Lips pursed, eyes narrowed, hands working away at the calluses on her feet; River is beautiful. He tucks a fallen curl obstructing her gaze behind her ear, and smiles softly to himself.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she asks, still focused on scrubbing.

"I could ask you the same thing." He pauses, hoping for a reply, then continues when none is given. "Midnight, longest meteor shower in history. I've got front row seats. And you?"

She grins at his reasoning, eyes glittering as she works. "Oh that's marvelous. I had no idea there would be dinner _and_ a show."

"Dinner?"

She sighs, still rubbing. "Met a guy at a bar, turns out his father owns this planet and my acceptance of a drink is the same as accepting a marriage proposal. Told him I was taken; he didn't like that too much. Still, I got a great pair of shoes out of it. Look-" she points to the forgotten shoes. "Over six-hundred credits. Not bad, eh?"

He laughs despite himself and leans over to pick up a shoe, spinning it in his palm for inspection. "Not bad," he concedes.

"Not at all," she agrees, finally content with her blisters. "Much better."

Silence falls for a moment as River runs fingers over her legs, looking for any new bruises or bleeding cuts. Her hands stroke skin in sweeping waves, and the Doctor finds himself staring at her without meaning to. He quickly removes his gaze and coughs, adjusting his bow-tie. He tugs his lapels down, smacking tweed against his shoulders.

When she turns to face him he is frowning, brow furrowed. "What's wrong?"

He hesitates before answering, leaning back with his hands in the dirt. "You met a guy in a bar and let him buy you a drink?"

"Oh, please," she rolls her eyes.

"Then," he continues, determined not to be defeated. "You allowed him to think you were getting married so you could get a new pair of _shoes_?"

"You said it yourself that they're nice."

He shakes his head, obviously still upset. "I know we don't have strict rules about this sort of thing, and we travel more on a need-to-know basis, but really, River, how could you-"

"I haven't seen you in nine months." she says flatly. Shrugging, she raises herself up to put her shoes back on.

He gulps. "Nine?" It comes out less as a question and more of a squeak.

"Nine."

He stands up to face her, guilt etching its way onto his features. He reaches in to caress her cheek but she withdraws, somehow stony in her expression.

"Nine months, Doctor, nine months without a call or anything. _Nine months_." And then she is slapping him, hard, and his hand clutches his cheek as he waits out the stinging sensation.

"Blimey, River, I haven't even left you yet!"

She huffs, waving a dismissive hand. "You can't pull the 'future me isn't me' card whenever you feel like it. You're him and he's you, and both of you haven't called in nine months."

_Angry River. Angry slapping River. This is extremely very not good._ He swallows, lowering his hand to his side. "Well, we're sorry. I mean, I'm sorry."

"It's been _nine months_," she whispers, and suddenly her raging facade has broken and she has the voice of a lost child. The Doctor forgets sometimes just how much River loves him, and the breaking in her tone causes his hearts to plummet when he realizes how much he's hurt her. They tread on taut strings and he must be careful not to break them.

"River," he coos. "River, River, my darling River." He steps forward to take her in his grasp but she crumbles to the ground and takes off her shoes, flinging them into the stream.

"Bloody heels," she chokes out. "Six-hundred credits and five new blisters."

He laughs and crouches beside her, cradling her face in his hands. "I'm sorry, River. It's my fault."

She shakes her head, somehow not crying. How is it that she can hold so much emotion inside of her without going mad? It breaks his hearts. He strokes her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, tracing small circles on the flushed skin.

"Forgive me, River. Please don't blame yourself."

"I hate blame games," she breathes out. "I've never understood the point."

He laughs again and scoops her into his arms, allowing her to burrow into his chest. He rests his chin atop her bed of satin curls. "Longest meteor shower in recorded history," he sing-songs. Her eyes dart open and she looks up at him, there appearing a small grin. "Want to see it?"

She full-out smiles with a gaze of pure affection that he can't help but melt underneath. She winks. "I'll need a good pair of shoes, first."


	70. The Wolves Act I and II

Disclaimer: Doctor Who is owned by the BBC, no profit or infringement is intended by this work of fiction.

**Hello again! Chapter 70, wow. I never ever thought, when I started this series, that there would be enough interest for 70 stories. Or that I would have the motivation/creativity to write them. Alas, here we are and here I am, and the sweetest thing is I think you can see a solid progression of my writing (even if I've been leaving out their timelines lately-I know I have, oops).**

**Anyways, I couldn't have it done it without you. Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, and I'm sending this to each individual one of you: THANK YOU.**

**Please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>The Wolves (Act I and II)-Bon Iver<p>

_Someday my pain, someday my pain  
><em>_Will mark you.  
><em>_Harness your blame, harness your blame  
><em>_And walk through_

_With the wild wolves around you.  
><em>_In the morning, I'll call you.  
><em>_Send it farther on._

* * *

><p>He reads the dealings of her soul like tea-leaves in a cup, with trepidation and trembling confidence. He has never been able to understand women, so why should River be any different?<p>

She slips through his fingers and falls, sand from a broken hourglass. Hours, minutes, seconds have passed and left him without answer; when it comes to piecing her back together, he is useless.

In their little time together, he has grown accustomed to her easy flexibility in their relationship, how she knows everything and anything and can solve the troubles on his mind with a few words or a softened glance. The chance has not presented itself for him to take her place, that is, until he receives a vague message with precise coordinates that have led him to a gray rooftop in the middle of the night.

He steps out of the TARDIS and immediately regrets it; rain tackles the roof in furious hordes, an angry siege in the kind of cold that chills him to the bone. These are no summer showers.

River stands alone in the center of the platform, eyes pointed towards the sky. Mascara runs down her face and he realizes she is crying, and she lifts her palms outstretched to the sky as if the ceiling of the world could envelop her along with the storm clouds and water. She opens her arms to the sky in a tender embrace of the heaven's falling seas.

He takes hesitant steps towards her, wary of what is to come. He knows not what to do.

She doesn't notice him or, at least, doesn't react when he comes to stand beside her. He too looks up at the sky, trying hard to ignore the rain on his face, and lowers his gaze when he can no longer submit to the torrential downpour. She stays her stance, locked, and doesn't answer when he says her name. She's silent.

Puddles have formed in the indents of the cement, dark, murky lakes of water that seem as if they dive lower than the deepest ocean trench. City lights glare in the distance and blur the shapes of buildings together as River and the Doctor stand side-by-side on the rooftop, oblivious to time and should and shouldn'ts, awaiting the end of the storm. For once, they wait together.

"Thank you for coming," she says, lacking tone. The rain relents and draws back into the clouds, leaving only a small drizzle as a reminder of its rage. "I know you're busy."

"I'm glad you called," he replies truthfully. "Even though you didn't say why."

She smiles sadly, with downcast eyes and a heavy sigh. He wants to hold her as he watches her unravel in front of him, and he is grasping at straws to uncover an explanation. What could possibly break her down like this?

He doesn't press the subject, though, just waits for her to respond when she's ready. He respects her need for pain.

After what he considers a substantial period of silence, he tries again, his tone light. "What can I do for you, River?"

"I don't know," she confesses, finally meeting his eyes. There's no light in hers when she does.

He continues, wary. "When are we for you?"

She frowns and doesn't respond.

He removes his hand from its place in his pockets and reaches out to toy with her fingers. He draws little circles on her knuckles before lacing their fingers together, and squeezing. "River," he starts again, voice as soft as the quiet rain. "It's important to know."

Flicking her gaze down to their hands, she avoids his eyes when she replies. "I'm old enough, Doctor. Too old."

"This is dangerous," he warns. He doesn't want to cross his own timeline and puncture a hole in the space-time continuum, though he knows he would already know if he's been here before, because _that_ him is past him and not anywhere near them right now.

Her fingers lose strength in the embrace and they are clammy deadweight in contrast to the Doctor's warming touch. He wants to swallow her whole, to chip away at the pain she hides and to chase away her shadows with his own. He wants to fill the ice of her soul with his blazing heat and have it course through her veins the way her life courses through him, and he wants to give all that he can until there is nothing left to give and then give it all again; all for a small smile or a little laugh.

He wants her sadness to go away.

She stays silent.

He detangles his hand from hers and moves it to her waist, where her reaction is just as unchanging. Her stony response scares him, and, for the first time in a long time, he fears rejection.

"Please let me help you," he whispers, voice shaking.

She slowly brings her eyes back up to his face, drowning in the air, and he can see chaos streaks of mascara that mark her with fallen tears. He raises thumbs to red cheeks and strokes tender circles, cupping her face in his hands. He looks into her eyes for an answer and sees only the gray clouds reflecting back.

In return, River lifts a palm to his cheek and smiles sadly. She opens her mouth to say something, then shuts it. This happens twice.

He stares at her with a reverent patience and can't help but think she looks absolutely _beautiful_ with rain in her hair, glossy green eyes, and puffy red lips from her bad biting habit. He loses his hearts in her delicate cheekbones, sharply defined nose, glistening golden hair. The world goes silent while he looks at her, hearing only the rise and fall of her chest and the faint beating from inside it.

"This probably isn't what you want to hear right now, so I'm sorry," he says, his eyes locked on hers. "But you are _beautiful_."

She blinks and just like that some sadness in her eyes disappears, swallowed by the light from his scrutiny. She reaches up to kiss him, pointed on her tip-toes, and places a close-mouthed kiss on the creases of his lips.

She means to withdraw but he ropes lanky arms behind her and clasps at her neck, pulling River closer into him and tugging on wet curls. His arm drops to her back and presses her firmly into him, holding her steady as she threatens to crumble. She meets him move for move and wraps strong arms around the Doctor's neck, closer and closer still until barely any space separates their bodies.

Their kiss shifts from gentle, sweet, timid to desperate passion and need. He can't stop touching her, hands roaming all over her figure and underneath her shirt, hot fingers splayed on damp belly. She threads fingers through silk and drops his bow-tie to the ground, and they stumble into the TARDIS with their arms entangled and mouths battling for triumph. Neither wins, just like always. Nobody ever wins in a game of broken hearts.

His lips taste like honey and hers like steel, balancing each other out in this twisted war of tongues. Victory has no place in their kiss.

They make it to her bed in panting breaths, tear-stained cheeks, and barely any clothes. They make love, burning through one's fire and freezing in the other's ice. They can't get enough of each other tonight, when there are only sorry yesterdays and bleak tomorrows. The present is the only thing they have, yet together they are drowning in it.

* * *

><p>He wakes up with a start, immediately noticing the emptiness of the bed. Pulling the covers high to his chest, he searches the room for any sign of her presence and finds none. He tries to convince himself she never existed but his mind tells him otherwise, as well as the light shining from under the bathroom door, catching his eyes. He lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding and walks over to the door, knocking twice.<p>

No response. He knocks again, louder, and pushes the door open to reveal...nothing. No crying woman, no smiling woman, no bright red tube of lipstick or kiss mark on the glass. He looks in the mirror and rubs a purpled marking on his neck.

He turns out the light and goes back into her room, collecting his clothes from off the ground and tidying them away. Still no signs of River.

After a half hour of failing to convince himself he's going to go back to that rooftop and force an answer out of her, he sighs and sits down on the edge of the bed. He puts his head in his hands and breathes out through his fingers; a heavy, tired sigh.

When he sees her three months later, he doesn't mention a word. He never says anything again about that night. He never does learn why she was crying.


	71. Landscape

Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC, no profit or infringement is intended with this work of fiction.

**Oops, it's been a little while. I've had some writer's block, my apologies, but then this was born and it's got a very different feel than the other chapters. I haven't decided how I feel it about it yet, so let me know what you think (good OR bad)! The general idea was prompted by 'whovian3.'**

**Thanks for helping me break 300 reviews; honestly, you guys are amazing. Thanks as always, and please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Landscape (Demo)-Florence + the Machine<p>

_Cause she's just like the weather, can't hold her together.  
><em>_Born from dark water, daughter of the rain and snow.  
><em>_Cause it's burning through the bloodline,  
><em>_It's cutting down the family tree.  
><em>_Growing in the landscape, darling, in between you and me._

_She wants the silence but fears the solitude,  
><em>_She wants to be alone and together with you  
><em>_So she ran to the lighthouse, hoped that it would help her see,  
><em>_She saw that the lighthouse had been washed out to sea._

* * *

><p>There are things lurking in the shadows.<p>

Terrible, dreadful things that loom over her with long legs and long arms but she can't quite remember what they look like, except that they glide like shadows. She blinks and they're gone. Were they ever even there?

And then she can't quite remember, and she shakes her head, and something fuzzes into her memory and there's an outline and lightning and a scream and oh; it's gone. What's gone?

Training, regiments, the sound of gunshots. The whizz of laser beams, the crooked, painted smile of a mother who was never really a mother at all. Years and years of living in a caged suit, of living a half-life in a world that was never really right for her. Years of being told whom she was meant to kill and meant to hate, but never meant to love. They never even considered it.

Who never considered what?

The image of flaming red hair and the swish of armor, like an old photograph ripped and torn and fraying at the edges. Her oldest memory drowns out her earliest one.

A kind stranger who understood her even then, even when she had nothing to speak of but how stupid he looked. A stranger with ancient eyes so full of love that carried weight, and promise, and hope. Hope. But then she forgets.

And her vision swims with eye-patches, outstretched fingers, terrifying stories, lipstick. Thousands and thousands left to die all swarm her and they scream and she yells out but no one can hear, no one can hear, and she fears they will overwhelm her and envelop her whole before she can escape. The dead, living, unborn all tearing at her flesh like crows on a corpse and scraping for the inside of her soul with their bare claws.

They rip her open and she screams. Nothing comes out.

Nothing ever comes out.

Eyes glitter at the promise of a feast, the promise of destruction and war and stealing away all that she has until she has nothing left. Did she have anything to begin with?

She can't remember.

Suddenly she's escaping, ripping open a suit made of white, running away from the flaming red hair that blazes like fire. She fears the fire will engulf her, that the fire will come after her. She doesn't stop running for hours.

Nothing looks familiar, nothing looks right. People are friendly but not kind, and she shakes her head when she looks up and can't quite remember. She reaches out to grasp the unfolding strands of her memory but realizes that only makes them fade further. She takes what she still knows and bottles everything up, hides it in a closet for later.

Golden light burns through her body like the blood in her veins, and she spreads herself out as if to become an eagle; ready to take flight. Planets and timelines burst beneath her eyelids and then she doubles forward, clutching her stomach, and her hair is a different color. How can that be?

An order remains in her mind, a single, ineffable command. Kill him.

Kill who?

The following years of her life are spent dreaming up impossible murders and perfect homicides. Guns, chains, poison, bare hands squeezing a throat; the dreams of a young girl have never been practical.

The red hair returns, or rather she returns to it, only this time it reminds her of blood yet to be spilled. She no longer runs from the red; she runs after it, chases it, begs to know its ways. The blood will spill forth from her fingertips one day and she wants to know how, always wants to know when. She already knows who.

When the red hair disappears, she knows it will be soon. She can feel it in her bones. Death tears at her from the inside out, tugs at the strained strings of a heart that never learned to play music. She'd like that, she thinks, to play music. She wonders what music is.

Red returns with someone she can't quite place but who moves like a warrior, who moves with purpose and something resembling age. She laughs; what is age to her?

Then _he_ comes to her with his hearts on a silver platter, innocent, trusting hearts that don't question her loyalty. His hearts are old but never have been wise.

She stretches a hand out to take one and he pulls the platter away, and she realizes she will have to fight. There is spark in him yet.

They leap around each other, stepping on the other's toes, falling forward and back and swooping to the side. She gives up on stealing them; if she wants to win, she must obey his rules.

Who's River Song?

She waits until she is close enough to grab them and then doesn't, surprising him. He falters in his game as he watches her move, not knowing she has already won. The others want to follow her but she denies them, warns them, and suddenly he falls down and can't form a phrase and she smiles.

He hands his hearts to her with a kiss.

Even after she kills him he lurches forwards, refusing to give up. He pulls himself together and manages to - why is he wearing _that_?

He can't take anything seriously, at least not knowingly, and he speaks to her as if there is still time left and she will listen. She doesn't know why she does.

He lists rule after rule and insists she writes them down. She doesn't have a pen or paper but she has a once-broken memory that works now and she can't quite remember but oh, does she remember this. She remembers every word he says and every look he gives her and every lie he says that isn't really a lie at all because he believes it to be true.

What is rule one to a woman like her?

Marble stairs will be his resting place and she finds relief in this, but he won't relent and he continues to cry out and continues to want to rescue them. He still cares.

Who's River Song?

She rescues them for him, because she can. Now that she's killed him nobody can ever tell her what to do again, and this time she saves them because she wants to. She doesn't know why this is true, or why she doesn't believe it to be a lie.

He whispers something in her ear that she will _always_ remember. She will never forget it. Perhaps that is why she asks the red, perhaps the ability to even remember to ask is what will keep her alive in the future.

And oh; _that_'s who River Song is.

Her feet walk her towards him and she can feel light at her fingertips, light that wants to leave her and be his.

Is he worth it?

Gold cups the back of his neck and he doesn't want her to, he whispers not to, but she's done being told what to do and she kisses him anyways. This time, it's her choice and sin and salvation all wrapped up in one.

She hands her hearts to him with a kiss.

Blue blinks her eyes open and all she hears is a promise to be amazing. Who will be amazing?

* * *

><p>River Song wakes up panting heavily. The covers stick to her skin and sweat coats her body, and all of her is shaking and rocking until cool hands enfold her into something cooler, balancing her heated state.<p>

"River," he whispers, and she sighs because no one else could say her name like that but him. No one else could ever love her like he does.

She kisses the hair on his chest and takes another breath in, lets it out. "I'm okay," she whispers back.

"Nightmare?" he murmurs into her hair. It feels like a summer breeze.

She nods. "Gone now."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

She breathes in again, breathes out. The rhythm of his hearts fit her own, and together they create the only pattern in the universe that echoes quite like this. To her, it sounds like music.

She learned after all.

She smiles. "Amazing."


	72. Blinding

Disclaimer: Doctor who belongs to the BBC, no profit or infringement intended from this work of fiction.

**Hey guys! Here's the next chapter. This is loosely based on various people's suggestions to do one where the Doctor is more active in their relationship. It's not quite that, but it's trying. Also, I recently went through my inbox and last few pages of reviews so I can get to writing most of your suggestions! I really do love writing what you want to read.**

**As per usual, thanks so much for reading! I never thought anyone would want to read anything I've written. Please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Blinding-Florence + the Machine<p>

_Seems that I have been held in some dreaming state,  
><em>_A tourist in the waking world, never quite awake.  
><em>_No kiss, no gentle word could wake me from this slumber  
><em>_Until I realised that it was you who held me under._

_Felt it in my fist, in my feet, in the hollows of my eyelids;  
><em>_Shaking through my skull, through my spine and down through my ribs._

* * *

><p>A tall, broad-shouldered hunk of a man stands straight and proud, wielding at minimum three weapons, one of which is currently pointed angrily at the Doctor.<p>

He holds his hands up in surrender, wide-eyed, not wanting to upset the man more than necessary. If this were any other time, really, he'd talk his way out of the situation and find another route to escape. He's the Doctor, after all, that's what he _does_. But River hovers directly between them, and the thought occurs to him, not for the first time, that he doesn't just have himself to think about anymore.

True, he'd self-sacrifice in a heartbeat for one of his friends or the betterment of humanity (which, to be fair, he's done at least twice already), but River brings out a new side of him. A protective side. A side that considers - nay, _contemplates_ the total destruction of a foe if that promised to keep her safe. This new kind of love worries him.

And he's really, really bad at showing it.

All that besides, this man is the only thing left still keeping them from the explosion console. Really, the man's stupid anyways and the Doctor, fleetingly, thinks it rather lazy that this corporation's left all security matters on something this important to an only slightly-human big piece of meat. It's also possible the Doctor only believes that because the big, scary man is eyeing River flirtatiously. But probably not.

Either way, they've got less than four minutes to disassemble the console and stop a war before it's begun. He checks his watch: three minutes, forty-eight seconds.

"River," he hisses, wanting her out of the way. The man surely only wants _him_ dead, not her; he doesn't mind a little regeneration if it saves her life - though it would be embarrassing to be killed on planet like this one. Really, some plants in the universe would greatly benefit from a little home-decorating.

She waves a hand behind her back, motioning for him to be silent. Grudgingly, he shuts up. "What's your name, soldier?"

He eyes her warily but allows himself to smile. "Donald Sarge, of the Olympian Fleet. Third Rank."

She grins, fluttering her eyelashes timidly as she speaks. "Donald _Sarge_," she says, drawling out the vowels in his name. "How perfectly lovely to meet you. My name's River."

"What are you two doing here? No one's supposed to know about the command flow. No one does, I've checked."

She laughs, propping a coquettish hand on her waist. "Well, darling, I've just got to double-check the control panel on the other side of the console - see how the lights are blinking? Warning signs. The corporation recently put me in charge of commanding it."

She takes a step forward and he shifts his gun down the smallest bit.

"Nobody say nothing to me about a change in commander."

She gives the man an expression that the Doctor can only assume, seeing as though he's obstructed by the back of her head, reads something as ineffable charm. The man smiles. The Doctor feels a jolt of rage shoot straight to his gut but he ignores it and check his watch: barely two minutes remain.

He makes a noise that rushes her, tells her there's no time for her games. She sighs, stepping even closer to the man.

"Oh sweetie," she whispers, suddenly trailing a finger down the man's jaw. "This is hardly professional but-"

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kisses the guard deeply and soundly. He's surprised but recovers quickly and soon kisses her back, roping his arms around her waist to pull her tighter into him.

The Doctor's fear changes to fury and he all but runs over to the console, tripping over himself, and dials in new commands as the guard remains effortlessly preoccupied by River's tongue and body. He types in orders rougher than necessary, nearly breaking off a few buttons in his frenzy.

River releases the man and he opens his glazed eyes, staring dreamily at the ceiling. She smirks. "Back to the TARDIS, shall we?"

They run hand-in-hand and he grips hers tighter than usual, virtually ripping her arm out of its socket when he drags her into the TARDIS. She shoves him away and runs up the ramp to dial in coordinates, sending them hurtling through the vortex. The ground shakes to let them know they're safe, and River rubs one delicate hand over the other.

"What was that all about?" she snaps. She crosses her arms, leans against the console.

He glares at her, marching towards her with one finger pointed directly at her face. "What, me? What the hell was _that_ all about?"

"Excuse me?"

He drops his hand to his sides and shapes them into fists, standing in front of her. "Kissing that guard-"

"-was a necessary tactic to distract him, enabling you to refigure the command flow. Which you did. Which prevented a war. Oh, look how clever I am!"

He grimaces. "Yes, saved us all. You might as well kiss every being in the universe so long as it keeps the planets revolving."

She slaps him, hard, right across the face. His hands fly up to clutch his cheek, which currently stings in pain. Her eyes are more furious than he's ever seen them. She's shaking with rage, something he's rarely ever witnessed. It terrifies him.

"Who the _hell_ do you think you are, Doctor?" She spits the words out in calm anger.

He bites back his trepidation and gulps, lowering his hands to his side. "Obviously, someone who doesn't kiss random men for fun."

She slaps him again, harder this time, even winding up beforehand to gain acceleration. If he thought the first slap hurt, he had no idea. She raises her wrist to press something into her vortex manipulator but he stops her, whipping out his sonic to fry the controls. She glares at him and leans over the console, but not before the Doctor tweaks a few knobs and parks the TARDIS in the vortex. She closes her eyes and lets air out through her nose, then stalks over to the corridor to leave.

"River," he calls after her, still feeling unsatisfied. "Don't you dare leave this room."

She turns sharply on her heels, saying nothing. Silent, she takes careful, quiet steps all the way back to him until she is staring him directly in the face. Her mouth is so close to his he can feel her breath on his neck, and he tries hard not to shudder. "Or what, Doctor?" It's more venomous than poison.

He gulps, eyes flickering down to where a carefully-placed hand hovers over her gun.

She laughs, a deep, rough sound that comes from her chest. "All words, sweetie." She turns away and strolls out of the room, leaving him gaping in her wake.

After an hour of regaining both his composure and dignity, he finds his way to her bedroom door. He isn't quite sure how; he figures his feet have teamed up with the rest of his body, all against his mind, because his mind _definitely_ doesn't think this is a good idea at all.

Raising a trembling fist, he knocks.

"A moment," is hissed out from somewhere inside the room and he hears papers flutter and sheets being pulled aside, and his heart only stops for a second when she opens the door in nothing but a tee-shirt.

She stands proudly in all her bedroom glory, with unruly curls wild and untamed and herself unabashedly unashamed in her lack of outfit. She leans against the door frame wearily. She arches an eyebrow, waits for him to speak.

"Right, well hello, River."

She sighs and folds her arms over her chest. "Listen, you either speak now or you go. I'm not in the mood."

His hands fidget inside his trouser pockets but he keeps them there to avoid having them gesture madly or scratch at his neck. Nonetheless, he feels his blood pressure rise as she glares at him, unchanging. "My apologies, I thought this was my ship."

She snorts. "It wouldn't be the first time you were misinformed."

He splutters and removes his hands from his pockets to wave them above his head. "_I_ stole - borrowed - her and therefore she's _my_ ship."

River sighs again and pulls her nightshirt down from its steady rise above her knees. "Like I said, speak or go."

He swallows his pride and anger and relents. "I'm sorry, River."

It isn't what she's expecting and he catches her quite by surprise; to his delight, in fact. He thinks he likes her surprised face.

"What?" She says it like she can't quite believe it, like it couldn't possibly be true.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, fixing his gaze to meet hers. "What I said before, that was wrong of me. I didn't mean it."

She doesn't say anything for a few moments, so shocked by his apology she can't find the right words. After a bit, she finds them. "You wouldn't have said that if you didn't mean it."

He bites his lip, scratches his jaw. He's rubbish with women. "Like I said, I'm sorry."

She looks at him for a moment, stares intently at his unreadable expression. "Why, though? For what?"

"I don't understand."

River folds her arms over her chest again, sighs. "Why were you so angry?"

_Oh_. He rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, buying himself time. She doesn't seem to be swayed, however, so he clears his throat before continuing. "You kissed another man," he says in a small voice.

She grins wickedly. "What was that?"

"You kissed another man," he repeats, just as quietly.

"Sorry, you're mumbling."

"Damn it River," he barks out. "You kissed another man!"

She lowers her hands to her hips and smiles softly, staring fondly at his chest. "Ah, and there it is."

"How could you possibly think I'd be okay with that?"

She laughs. "Doctor, we're by no means completely exclusive. You're too much of an intergalactic flirt."

He sighs, threading his hands through his hair. "It's one thing if you haven't seen me in months and quite another when you're right in front of me and-"

She puts a finger on his lips, takes a step closer to him. He falls silent, licking his lips under her finger, which makes her chuckle. "Oh, Doctor. I never thought you'd be insecure about this sort of thing."

"_Me_, insecure?" The amount of faked incredulity in his voice is off the charts.

She traces the line of his jaw with a soft finger and he goes silent again, watching as she tenderly fixes his gaze to meet hers. "I don't belong to you."

His eyes fall a bit and it breaks her heart. "Not 'belong,' I suppose, that's probably not the right..." he trails off.

"But Doctor," she replies, a new urgency in her voice. "I, personally, do not, that's true. But I don't know how else to let you know if you don't know by now that my love is totally, undoubtedly yours."

He feels like crying.

"Kissing someone to make sure our plan, a plan set to save millions of lives, succeeds, well, it doesn't change that. It doesn't make me love you any less. Doctor," she pleads, grabbing his chin with her hand. "You are the only man I think about in the morning, afternoon, night, and inbetween. You are everything to me, my love. How could you ever question that?"

He blinks back tears and stares down at her, looks into her eyes that search his face for some sign that he understands. He smiles softly, bringing one hand up to tug on a stray curl.

She giggles when he pulls, and the ringlet coils perfectly back into place.

"So it didn't mean anything?"

She smirks, tangling her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. "Nothing."

He leans forward, close enough so that he's breathing directly on her mouth. "I'm a better kisser anyway."

She laughs. "Is that so?" she murmurs.

He hums against her lips before swooping down to kiss her, wrapping his arms tightly around her back to drag her against him. She sighs into his mouth and he pulls her closer, nipping just there and darting his tongue out just then to win the little moans he loves so well.

Her hands come around to cradle his face and time stops. All they are conscious of is the other's mouth and the other's hands, tenderly stroking and holding firmly. They draw time out in this moment, this kiss - for now, time belongs to them.

When they break, River rests her head on his shoulder and nuzzles her nose into his neck. He slides his hands to her hips and presses her completely into him, filling the empty space. He breathes out into her hair.

"No more unneeded jealousy," he promises.

She chuckles, lightly kissing his bow-tie. "You're ridiculous."

"You love it," he teases, mocking her in a low voice.

She smiles, pulls away to look him in the eye. "Yes, my love. I do."


	73. One and Only

Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC, no profit or infringement is intended with this piece of fiction.

**Hello faithful readers! It's been a bit (whoops) but I'm busy. There's a never-ending list of excuses I will spare you, just know that I'm taking some old suggestions into consideration that I never answered. Life, it gets in the way.**

**Here's some fluffy banter and plotless drabble-esque writing. Hope it satisfies for now! ****Thanks as always, and please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>One and Only-Adele<p>

_I dare you to let me be your, your one and only.  
><em>_I promise I'm worthy to hold in your arms  
><em>_So come on and give me the chance  
><em>_To prove that I'm the one who can  
><em>_Walk them miles until the end starts._

_I know it ain't easy  
><em>_Giving up your heart._

* * *

><p>Her eyes sparkle brighter than the stars.<p>

Splayed out on the grass, they watch as moons glide out of sight and far-off galaxies slowly fade away. On a planet where night never ends, thousands of moons disappear over the horizon in a matter of minutes to create an universally-popular destination. Lucky for them, they have a time machine that can take them here even before tourists overtake the skyline and skyscrapers scrape the sky by the hundred.

At the moment, it's quiet here and peaceful.

River drags a finger from her side and points up at a planet. "What about that one?"

The Doctor smiles, squeezes their interlaced hands. "I went there once, a long time ago. Might have been my fourth regeneration. Blimey, those were the days. Had a long scarf, longer than was entirely logical. Looked fantastic, though."

She laughs, fixing her eyes on a new constellation. "That one?"

He chuckles to himself, gazing at the stars. "Fought off an angry herd of miniaturized plants. I know it sounds silly, but they were really quite dangerous."

Her arched eyebrows lets him know she doesn't believe a word he says.

"Dangerous! Spiky, miniaturized plant-people! They wanted to take over the whole planet! Basically, humanized weeds."

She giggles.

"Okay, you're right. Maybe it was a little ridiculous." He squeezes her hand again, tenderly rubbing the soft spot between her thumb and forefinger.

She sighs and rolls over, landing her chin on his sternum. She smiles at him from over his chest and her hair shines in the starlight, almost white in the glare of the stars. "It feels like you've been everywhere."

He shrugs; or rather, as much as he can in his pinned, horizontal state. "I've been a lot of places, it's true. I travel. It's what I do."

"Don't you ever want to stay still? Don't you ever want to stop running?"

He looks at her for a long time before answering, possibly memorizing the curves of her face. "I'm a restless old man. Besides, I couldn't even if I wanted to."

She frowns. "You aren't that old, you know. While I was at university, I read about a being called the Face of Boe. Apparently thousands, millions of years old. You're only a few centuries."

"Eleven centuries or so, if we're being precise."

She rolls her eyes. "Doctor."

"I knew him, the Face of Boe. Cheeky little bastard, he was. Never did learn just how old he was when he died, though millions isn't out of the question. I wonder how he's doing..." he trails off, lost in thought.

"You knew him? Or rather, know him?"

He nods, smiling. "Yeah, time travel. You end up seeing a lot of people before and after they die. It's complicated."

River frowns, stroking circles on his chest. "Burdensome."

Ignoring her comment, he continues. "He's a right laugh, ol' Boe-Face. He'd sleep with anything and anyone, let me tell you, as long as it's willing."

She laughs into his jacket and he can feel her smile in the crease of his tweed. "I think I'd like him. Did he ever make a move on you?"

The Doctor half-blushes, half-smirks. "I tried not to lead him on too much."

River smiles, drops a kiss in the vee of his buttoned-up tweed and snakes her hand down his front, unbuttoning the top button. She catches his gaze and winks, undoing the next one. He gives her a bored smile so she continues until all of his buttons are undone and she can push his jacket open, raking her nails up and down his shirt-clad chest.

"I just bet he couldn't resist," she murmurs into the fabric of his shirt.

"I'm effortlessly irresistible, it seems," he counters.

She grins, sliding her fingers from the waistband of his pants up to the collar of his shirt. "Endlessly arrogant, too."

He moves his hands to her biceps and roughly flips them over in the grass, causing breathless giggles to escape from River. He burrows them into the grass and she smiles up at him, utterly radiant in the starlight. "In all fairness, I'm allowed to be a little arrogant sometimes. I save the universe pretty regularly."

"I don't remember anyone ever asking you to."

He nuzzles her neck with his nose, pressing a small kiss there. "No complaints so far."

She snorts. "Ignoring the Daleks, Cybermen, Zygons, Silurians, and plenty others, sure. No complaints."

He laughs into her neck, nipping gently. "Feeling cheeky, are we?" He continues to feather her skin with kisses until she clears her throat, halting him.

"Doctor," she whispers. Her voice has gone soft, now containing a pleading urgency. "Don't you get tired?"

He sits up, pulling her with him. He faces her cross-legged, his hands fidgeting with individual blades of grass. He stares at the ground for a few moments, pensive, before meeting her eyes. Despite himself, he smiles. "Not when there's more to see."

She sighs, flipping herself over so her head drapes over his legs and she has to look up to see his face. His fingers slip into her hair and coil around a ringlet, tugging it gently. She lets him.

"It's pretty beautiful, isn't it?"

Grinning, he laces one hand in hers and uses the other to brace himself against the ground. They look up at the stars, entwined, and ponder the complexities of the universe in each other's arms. Sometime soon this will turn to metal to money to dust, and then the planet will be terraformed again for a whole new industry of who knows what, but right now, for them, it shines.

She settles into his chest, happy. Somewhere out, there's a war to be won, a mystery to be solved, a life to save, but not now. Right now, right here, the world belongs to them.


	74. History of Us

Disclaimer: All rights to the BBC, no profit or infringement intended with this work of fiction.

**Hello my loves! Again, sorry about the irregular update schedule. This song was suggested by 'Trialia,' so thank you for that! I'd really love story prompts from you guys-at this point, I've quite a few songs to hold us over for a while but I would love to hear any ideas you have about concepts. Send them my way!**

**Thanks as always, and please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>History of Us-Indigo Girls<p>

_I went all the way to Paris to forget your face.  
><em>_Captured in stain glass, young lives long since passed,  
><em>_Statues of lovers every place.  
><em>_I went all across the continent to relieve this restless love,  
><em>_I walked through the ruins, icons of glory  
><em>_Smashed by the bombs from above._

_So we must love while these moments are still called today,  
><em>_Take part in the pain of this passion play.  
><em>_Stretching our youth as we must, until we are ashes to dust,  
><em>_Until time makes history of us._

* * *

><p>River Song disabled land mines like it was her calling.<p>

He could only watch, fascinated, as she scanned and searched and disarmed the invisible bombs that waited patiently beneath the surface. These bombs were the leftovers of a war years passed, breaking-down memories that haven't quite faded away. Recently, they'd been causing the locals trouble and the Doctor hadn't really expected to see River here already. He'd stopped by for a visit (this planet's well-known for their soup delicacies) and gotten wrapped up in a rescue scheme by the nearby inhabitants when they told him stories of people gone missing and never coming back.

With tales like those and food like this, how could he have resisted?

Stumbling upon a curly-haired beauty already rummaging around the small hills, he stopped his escapade to admire her from afar. As far as he knew, she had no idea he was there.

He watched her hands sift through dirt and caress old metal, elbows and knees thoroughly covered in grass stains and dirt streaks. Two smudges of mud the size of thumbprints strayed on either side of her chin, no doubt left by River herself in a moment of exasperation. Fingers stroking chin was a sure sign of frustration. He knew all her ticks by now.

She bent down over a particularly deeply inset and let out a few disparaging huffs. "Bloody bombs," she ground out.

He laughed aloud, accidentally, and she spun around on her knees quicker than what should be her reaction time. He lifted his palms in surrender as she squinted into the sun, her gun pointing towards the middle of his chest all the while.

"Hello River."

She lowered her gun and shoved it back into her belt, sighing. "I hadn't really expected to see you here, sweetie."

He walked towards her, careful not to step on any anthills that undoubtedly held a ready bomb underneath. It became sort of a dance, arms flailing to keep his balance while tip-toeing around spurts of dirt and grass. It was less than graceful, and River didn't try hard to keep the smirk from her face.

"By all means, choreograph a ballet."

He frowned, finally reaching her. He dropped to a squat and picked up a tossed-away mine, fiddling with the settings. "I'd rather not regenerate, thanks so much. I quite like this body."

She smiled.

"And you do too, I think." A tap on her nose.

Turning away from him, she fell to a crouch and inspected a rather menacing-looking metal disc too ominous to not be dangerous. "What brings you to this side of the tracks?"

"Food, actually." Dropping the inactive bomb to the grass, the Doctor continued. "This planet makes a mean soup. I mean absolutely _delicious_." Her focus didn't shift from the ground, so he kept on. "And yourself?

Eyes glued to her working hands, she sighed. "Archaeology."

"Gossip." The contempt in his voice was not well-hidden.

"Archaeology," she repeated. "I've got a team just over the hill. We can't keep up our dig with these land mines all over the place, so I told them to eat dinner while I work something out." She grinned. "I doubt anybody thought I'd disable them myself."

He found himself staring at the contour of her jaw, admiring the way it clenched upon inspection and released for speech. His eyes slid up to her hairline, contemplating the loose curls that had fallen free of her ponytail. Dirt everywhere, sweat mixed with dirt, and eyes narrowed at something he couldn't see: she was beautiful. She took his breath away.

"Sweetie?"

"W-what?" His nickname on her lips dragged him out of his thoughts.

Shifting further into the dirt, River sighed. "I said, when are we for you?"

"Oh." He scratched the back of his neck. "Eight months after Area 52, give or take."

"Good," she breathed out, and before he knew what was happening, her hands were tugging the lapels of his tweed and pulling him forwards, her lips hungrily rolling over his. She gripped his jacket in fistfuls, wrenching him onto her, and draped one leg over his hips as she pressed them into the dirt and grass.

His hands fluttered around for a few moments before dropping to her shoulders, tightening his hold when she circled her hips into his.

"Jesus, River," he groaned into her mouth, nerves racing and hyper-sensitive.

She rolled them over and ground into him again, her nails scratching desperately at the nape of his neck. His hands raised to her waist and roughly pulled her arms-length away. She fought for a few moments before giving up, crossing her arms over her chest and arching one brow.

"What's wrong?" she demanded.

"River, please," he breathed out between gasps, still catching his breath. "We're surrounded by _land mines_. You can't _do_ things like this!"

Possibly the wickedest smile he'd ever seen curled up the corners of her lips. "Afraid of a little metal, my love?"

He gulped. "Explosive, practically invisible metal just beneath the surface? Yes. Absolutely."

She laughed and folded her knees on either side of his hips, effectively straddling him. Bending down, she only got so far as able to ghost her lips mere inches from his before his taut elbows kept her at bay.

"Oh Doctor," she purred. "I promise it will be _fun_." Her eyes glittered at the prospect and he found himself shifting his weight beneath her, only to elicit a surprised gasp from River. "Even some parts of you seem to agree."

"River," he mumbled, caught between the feel of her sliding against him and the dangerous possibilities that lay ahead.

Sensing his momentary weakness, she stretched herself out so her body hovered just above his, their lips barely touching. "Come now, sweetie. Show me just how much you hate archaeology."

And then she was kissing him and he was powerless, hungry for her touch and the pressure of her hands on his body, kneading and tugging and sliding underneath fabric. His hands snaked their way down her back and under her blouse, his cool palms splayed out on the sticky heat of her skin. He yanked her closer, filling the empty void between their bodies. She smiled into the kiss and loosened his bow-tie, nimble fingers picking at soft silk.

He dragged his mouth away reluctantly. "River, really, we can't. Not here."

"Shh," she whispered, one finger pressed to his lips. "Stop talking."

"No, really." He removed his hands from under her shirt and brought them to her shoulders, creating distance between them. She eyed him sinfully and walked her fingers down to the button of trousers, playing with the button. He gripped her tighter, jerking her hands away. "Stop it, River."

She frowned and lifted her hands to his, plucking each one from her shoulders with a simple tug. Using the ground as leverage, she pushed down into the grass and then up and off him, standing up. He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and slowly got to his feet, awkwardly re-shaping his hair.

She turned her back to him and snatched her communicator up from the ground, roughly dialing a message onto the screen.

"River, I-"

She held up a hand as an interruption, her back still facing him, and finished typing in her message. When she was done, she shoved her communicator into her bigger-on-the-inside back pocket and spun to face him. She looked fairly unhappy and he felt incredibly sheepish, tentatively reaching a hand out to stroke her arm. She flinched away from him, wounding his pride more than he would admit.

"River."

Hands on her hips, she glared at him. "Yes?"

He swallowed his uncertainty and continued. "Don't be like that, River. It's just dangerous, is all."

She laughed, once, and dropped both hands to her sides. "Because let's not put ourselves in any danger, that would be stupid." Her sarcasm dripped from every word.

He was getting fed up now and took a step forwards, shaking one finger in rebuke. "Aren't you being a little childish?"

"Childish?" she scoffed. "Please, Doctor, you're an intergalactic five-year-old."

"I take offense to that."

"Good."

Narrowing his eyes at her, he dropped down to a crouch and picked up a spare mine. Standing himself up, he offered it to her with an outstretched arm. "Do you know what this?"

River rolled her eyes. "I'm not in the mood to play your games, Doctor."

He pressed on, nudging her stomach with the disc. "It's a 5125 land mine triple X, used by the Ghantarii invaders from last century. They dropped these from the air with oxygen channels that had them float to the surface before infusing into the ground, offering them quite the advantage." he paused. "That war lasted five years, River. Until I, on a whim, wanted soup, and stumbled upon two races in a full-fledged war. I stopped it, of course. But..." he trailed off.

Her eyes had softened and were watching him mournfully, saddened. "But?"

He lifted his eyes from the metal and up to hers. "But not without casualties. Whole Ghantarii fleet was wiped out by a massive stroke of radiation. I didn't mean for it to grow so strong, the hibernating metal defibrillator attached to the heart of the ship woke up, sent a shock through every system. Fried their communications, broke a few machines. Everyone was so concerned with the systems failure no one noticed the radiation pipes burst. And that was that." He put his hands in his pockets and sighed.

River didn't say anything for a minute or so, turning the mine over in her hands over and over again.

His spine stiff as a post, he watched her fingers with interest, looking for an answer in the continual motion.

"Last time I was here," she began, stuffing the mine into the pouch on her utility belt. "I came across the town first, hair black and smoking, clothes charring away. My vortex manipulator had malfunctioned."

He grinned sadly. "Cheap and nasty time travel."

Ignoring his remark, she continued. "A family took me in and sheltered me for a few weeks while the burn on my arm recovered." She lifted her wrist to show him the glossy scar, barely noticeable. "There was a daughter, only just a woman. Nineteen or so. She'd fallen in love with a soldier, Special Ops." She smiled, remembering. "He would come by during his weekends off, throwing little chunks of metal at her window. I don't think she ever knew it was shrapnel."

He dropped his eyes to the ground, willing tears away.

"And then one day, she got a letter." River watched him swallow the lump in his throat. "She was hysterical, convinced he had died on the front. Inconsolable." She laughed, drawing his gaze back to hers. "In reality, the war was over. He was coming home." She took a step towards the Doctor and stroked his cheek softly. "Every choice and action is made up of good things and bad things, until one day those choices and actions and consequences are forgotten, or told again and again as stories. Sad stories and happy stories, stories of war and blood and conquest; and, sometimes..." she paused, smiling softly at him. "Stories of love."

He lifted his hand to hers and pressed her palm into his cheek.

"You can remember it sadly or happily, or as it was. What's important is that you remember it." Moving her fingers to cradle his jaw, her thumb traced his bottom lip. "I have faith in you."

Eyes a little less forlorn, he smiled against her touch and gently kissed her thumb. She grinned.

"We know quite a lot about love stories, don't we, Doctor?"

He laughed, breaking his silence. He took the hand on his chin and pressed a feather-light kiss into her palm, curling it in on itself for safe-keeping. "Archaeology," he muttered, stepping in closer to her.

He wrapped his arms around the small of her back and nuzzled into her shoulder, delighting in the soft wisps of golden hair brushing against his forehead. She smiled into his floppy brown hair, lightly kissing the top of it. "Let's write our own," she whispered, virtually impossible to hear.

He did, in fact, hear her, but stayed mute. There was still so far left to go.


	75. For You

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the writing, all rights to the BBC.

**Hello friends! Again, more procrastination with my like of updates. Sorry guys, I'm busy. You're continual encouragement keeps me writing, though, and it really makes me try! This song was suggested by 'Miz636' a while back, and I promise I'm working through everyone's suggestions. It just takes a lot of time.**

**Thanks as always for the undying and undeserved support,** **and please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>For You-The Calling<p>

_Within the darkness  
><em>_You are the light that shines a way  
><em>_In this blind justice,  
><em>_I can be that man who saves the day._

_I'm there for you  
><em>_No matter what,  
><em>_I'm there for you,  
><em>_Never giving up._

* * *

><p>He wants to be her knight in shining armor.<p>

While River Song, woman of his dreams, never quite plays the part of damsel in distress, he wants to be her savior (and her equal in all manner of things, besides). He wants to be the arms she longs for in the ache of midnight, the smile she yearns for after lonesome wanderings, the man that stands beside her in her glory. By staying so close, he hopes, he will drown in and absorb her light.

She's too arrogant, often ruthless, and stubborn as hell; she meets him at his vices with her own, and takes them in, swallows them whole, forgets them, abandons them. Acknowledges them. Loves him anyway.

Her eyes pierce the skin on his neck and sting like chilled toes in boiling water: it hurts well.

The Doctor has always been of words and deeds but she's a patchwork woman of lying squares, missing squares, patches sewn on already and not quite yet. Her dreams stitch her skin to flesh and flesh to bone and hold her together. He likes to think he is her dream.

He wants to hold her together.

Her undying love runs through his veins and reminds him that, however strong she may be, she is powerless in their game of cat and mouse. He will always win, because she will always do anything for him, and it's a curse and a blessing, and he can't help but drink up every minute of their time together, insatiable. He needs her love like water.

Swaddled in red satin or risen by sharp stilettos, River takes his breath away with winks and smiles. With a persuasive swish of her hips, he would do anything. He'd burn every universe in existence if he thought that's what she wanted.

That fact, however true, terrifies him.

If he's being honest with himself, which he so rarely is, he's come close to it more than once. The guards of Stormcage have received more than a few nasty, anonymous presents, little trinkets that temporarily blind or deafen. Admittedly, her kisses are platonic and harmless, yet he can't keep himself from feeling jealous. The guards should know better.

But who can resist her?

Even when he was young and all converse and striped suit, her brilliance and enigma drew him towards her like magnetic electricity. Static clings between them, pushing and pulling and fighting the same energy by attracting the poles. They are so different, he and River, yet he has never felt more similar to anyone else in the universe.

Plus, she's got nice hair.

Really, it's some of the best hair follicles he's ever seen - and, truthfully, he's seen quite a few. Her hair shows up in his dreams sometimes, on the rare occasion that he slumbers, and he sees golden curls twine between his long piano fingers, feels that unfamiliar burning in his abdomen that pools and lights like liquid fire. He can get lost in her hair, really, and he often does.

He thinks about her waiting for him and feels unwanted sadness creep into his thoughts, a melancholy he ignores by going on random exhilarating adventures. Then he meets up with her, by accident, out of everyone and everywhere and every_when_ in the universe and is always surprised, even when he remembers, hey, she wrote her _thesis_ on him. She's no docile, waiting lady in a glass tower; River Song writes her own stories with the sweat of her brow and a gun on her hip.

A gun that, he admits, he shouldn't find so sexy.

River seeks him out, decides not to wait, abandons the bloodlines of her family and becomes active. She doesn't wait 2,000 years to see him or even 14 - she bloody well steals her own technology and walks out of Stormcage like the walls aren't even there. River Song makes her own luck and never fails to try it. She almost always wins, too.

As frequently as she frees herself from prison, she liberates the passion he sheaths in words. She takes his repressed instincts and releases them into the world, opening Pandora's box. He hides nothing from her, no matter how hard he may try, and he cannot escape his brutal honesty. Neither can she.

He breaks her with words when she pushes him over the precipice, when she forgets that he is vulnerable, and he bites into the heart of her, consumes it. He rips her open with a searing glare or an articulate clause, tearing her apart from the inside out, and she stands by him through it all. She holds his hand through the whole of their unholy war.

There was a time, long ago, when she scared him. Space suits and flimsy theories and whispered words froze him to the bone, and he would run. He would run through glaring constellations and oceans set on fire, because commitment has never really been his thing in the long run. But she asks for no commitment and offers no attachment, and he finds himself running in circles into her arms, always ending up beside her no matter the path.

She seems to be his destiny. As it turns out, he quite likes destiny.

Maybe all of the lonely years have blinded him from seeing what's right in front of him. She's not there because she has to be: she's there because she wants to be. She doesn't travel with him because she wants to see stars and planets and aliens (though he knows she enjoys that just as much as he does), but because she genuinely wants to be with _him_. She loves him. He doesn't think he deserves it.

"Are you married?" he had asked her once, just to see what emotion would cross her face. He had never expected to see tenderness; not for a single second. Perhaps that had surprised him the most.

She had looked so comfortable, then, if there were any word to describe it; so happy and satisfied with whatever came to mind upon the inquiry. It were as if she was just then remembering every moment of her long life that had ever incited a warm feeling of happiness, as if she were one half of an old married couple still hopelessly in love. A bit of self-control left him that day.

Ever since, he's had a growing passion to ignite that feeling within her; to be the man that makes her flush like a schoolgirl, the man who still gives her butterflies after hundreds of years. He wants her to love him, he realizes. He's glad that she does.

Next time someone mentions her he'll smile softly to himself, like he holds one half of the universe's sweetest secret, and will say nothing. Nobody could ever understand them like they do. Nobody ever will.


	76. Masters in China

Disclaimer: All rights to the BBC, nothing intended but free, fun fiction.

**Hello again, my loves. Well, this is awkward, seeing as though I haven't updated in forever for anything and I'm just swamped with work (I got a job whoooop) and school stuff and excuses that never end, honestly...**

**ANYWAYS, I finally got around to writing another chapter. As it happens, I've got quite a few song suggestions lined up that I promise I'll get to at some point. At some point...in the future. For now, you'll have to make do with this one. I've messed with timelines again, because that's something I haven't done in too long, so I hope you have some fun with that.**

**Thank you for the undeserved loyalty and all of your comments; I read every one and they really do mean a lot to me. Please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em>Masters in China-Priscilla Ahn<em>

_You've always been bashful, you're just that way  
><em>_But your eyes are like billboards, they give you away.  
><em>_Your mouth is a trumpet, somebody else plays  
><em>_Long after the notes gone, the tone usually stays._

_And your chest a fine pillow, with lining of feather.  
><em>_Your hair is a family, with strands stick together;  
><em>_Fingers are keys from the grandest piano, played by a line that the Lord only knew._

* * *

><p>On a barren planet deserted millions of years ago, the Doctor really should not have been as surprised as he was when he stumbled upon River Song's large team of clerics. There had been way too many guns pointed at him then - really, what was it with the church and their penchant for killing machines? - but he had sighed and rattled off some chatter about something they thought was important until a blond-haired beauty emerged from the winding dig.<p>

Dirt smudges streaked across her brow; the white, airy dust of the ground coating her jean shorts; a careful smirk playing a comfortable aria on her face; he couldn't quite find it in him to breathe.

She had smiled at him, obviously surprised, and his hearts had constricted with immense pride, as if he'd just saved the universe with a wink. She wiped the back of her hands on the fabric over her hips, pretending not to be thrown completely off-guard by the unexpected visit.

With River whispering something to a particularly large and gun-toting cleric, all the soldiers briskly straightened up and offered the Doctor apologetic, if not somewhat terrified, glances. He dropped his hands from their height of surrender and sauntered over to her, grinning.

"Hello, sweetie."

He reached the spot where she stood, squinting down at her in the sun. She shielded the glare with a cupped hand on her forehead, clearly still bemused by his visit.

"Hello, River."

Her hair was pulled back by a loose string of silk, a glimmer of fabric caught in the corner of his eye. Upon closer inspection, he realized why it was stealing his attention - it was _familiar_. How was that possible? Blue, and covered in miniscule, swirling designs of no methodical reasoning. His bow-tie held her hair together, taming the wild curls as they spilled forth from the flimsy restraints. He gulped.

"What's brought you to this end of the galaxy, my love?"

He still hadn't recovered the breath he lost earlier and her affectionate smile didn't help him with that, not in the slightest. "She went rebel."

"The TARDIS, you mean?"

He nodded, once again distracted by the small hints of dirt caked over her complexion. The image of shower water pounding down on her skin, languidly washing away the filth, came unbidden into his mind and he shook his head, freeing himself of the intrusive thought. "She's a rogue."

"You should treat her better. She hates it when you leave the brakes on."

"I think that's you, actually."

River grinned. "Come, let's talk in my tent. Father-" she waved towards the big man from earlier. "The Doctor and I will be having lunch in my tent. Then we'll finish the day's excavation. Everybody, take an hour. No more, no less."

He followed her as she strode past uncomfortably shifting clerics and tents of various shapes and sizes; some were double his height, others thin as a doorway, others yet the size of a cathedral. They walked through them all, large and little, and the Doctor wasn't too surprised when River pushed open the flap of the plainest, smallest tent at the end of the line. She held the curtain open for him, motioning for him to enter first. Complying, he walked into a room the size of the outside.

The inside of her tent was much smaller than he expected, and less furnished, with a bed in the corner, a small bureau to one side, and scattered tables and bags all over the floor. He spotted a swathe of shimmering blue fabric poking out from under the bed, a rough-looking sock much too large to be River's, a lacy bra-

He blushed. "Why-" he began.

"-don't I have a bigger on the inside tent?" she shrugged. "I don't need that much space. Besides, all the clerics like their luxury and I don't like having many similarities with the church. Call it an old grudge, if you will."

He smiled, walking over to her bed. Plopping down on her rock of a mattress, he waved her over to join him. She chuckled and moved to the other side of the tent, bent down, and reached inside a tiny bag to bring forth a rather large, self-heating kettle. His eyes widened and she put a finger to her lips.

"You can't expect me to live in complete simplicity, though, can you? A girl needs a good cup of tea after a long dig. Archaeology is tiring work."

He snorted and she shot him a look that tried to be reprimanding but essentially came out entertained. He sat up from his sprawl on the bed and leaned against the tent wall, surprised when his head came into contact with something solid.

She never even looked up from her task. "That's aluminum siding, be careful. I wanted soundproofing - never can be too careful when you're surrounded by people who hate you."

He swallowed and pointed at the kettle, which was currently close to boiling. "Have you got any white teas in that bag of yours?"

River laughed, hands sifting through the contents. "So _dainty_, Doctor, really."

He ignored the taunt and made himself as comfortable as he could, considering the hard mattress and solidly cold walls. Silence joined them for a few minutes as River prepared the tea, her hands methodical and practiced, with him admiring the efficiency of their movements.

River bent down a few times to reach into the bag for spoons, sugar, and various creams and he couldn't keep himself from delighting in the curve of her spine, the stretch of muscles, the slope of her body in the dim light of her tent. His eyes danced over the waist-hem of her jeans, the baggy, red-striped shirt tucked absently into worn and well-used denim, and-

Red-striped?

Inspecting the cuff of her shirt, currently pushed up to her elbows, his suspicions were confirmed in the horizontal, dark striping of the ends. He swallowed and turned a more rapt attention to River, studying her more intently.

"Is that my shirt?"

River frowned, pausing the stirring of her spoon. "What do you mean?"

"Are you wearing my shirt?" he amended, gesturing towards her.

She put the cup down on the table beside her and crossed her arms over her chest. "Doctor, when are we for you?"

"That's my shirt, isn't it? So that _is_ my bow-tie I spotted earlier, hiding in your hair! Well, this is strange and honestly quite unexpected and I haven't got a clue why-"

"When are we for you, Doctor?" she repeated, more urgent than before.

He swallowed and licked his lips, hesitating. "Last time I saw you was the Pandorica."

River's mouth dropped and a small, almost unnoticeable glimmer of light left her eyes. Almost. Her next words were unbearably icy. "You shouldn't be here."

"What? Why?"

She backed away from him, a few tiny steps, and pressed herself against the adjacent tent wall. "You need to go. Right now."

"But River..." he trailed off, virtually whining. He watched her face contort with a flash of several unpleasant emotions. He suddenly felt awkwardly uncomfortable; this wasn't a side of River he'd often seen. Her hands clenched into fists at her side, total tension spiraling through her body, and he fought both the urge to pull her into his arms and to run from the tent, fast, and never look back.

He took in all the clues of the day: his bow-tie in her hair, her shirt on his back, a stray woolen sock too big to be River's. He stood up from his pose on the bed and straightened, deciding what next to do. Well, he might be terrified and completely out of his element, but he wasn't rude. "Tea?" he managed, pointing to the pair of cups.

She shook her head. "Leave."

"River?"

She turned away from him, dropping her gaze to the floor. "Before I call in the clerics."

He stood ram-rod straight, his chest puffed out, the fringe on his forehead only slightly hindering his line of sight. "Because the last time lord is absolutely terrified of the clergy."

She laughed, once, then covered her mouth as if she hadn't meant to do so at all. She lifted her gaze and locked his eyes with her own, however cloudy and unreadable they were. Sighing, River lowered her hands to her waist and resumed her usual stature of condescension, but even the Doctor could tell it was a little forced. "How is it that every single you I meet is so incredibly...you?"

"Well," he began, eager to leave behind the previous conversation. "That'd be because I _am_ me, I suppose."

She snorted. "Cheeky."

He grinned. "Still right, though."

River sighed and moved to stand beside him, leaning on the desk with one supportive hand. "You really should go."

Her tone was sorrowful this time, and reluctant, as if she knew the right thing and what she wanted could never add up. Sensing this, the Doctor managed an amiable smile and ignored the knot tightening in the middle of his chest. He walked towards the tent flap, stopped, wanting to say something but not knowing what exactly he meant, and left River alone.

He walked a few yards before swiftly spinning on his heels and darting back into the tent, where River had not left her position by the desk. If her eyes looked a bit watery, he didn't mention it.

"One last thing," he announced, moving to stand in front of her. Reaching around her neck, his hands tangled in her golden curls and pulled them loose, drawing the blue silk out of her hair and to him. He whipped the cloth over his shoulder and let it hang there as he slowly, deliberately, untied his current bow-tie.

River watched his fingers, mesmerized, as if he were writing a secret message only the two of them knew in the way his fingertips picked and tugged at the collar of his shirt and the red of his tie.

Now fully released, he drew the crimson bow-tie from his neck and reached back around River to tie the red one into her hair. She held her breath, wordless, as his nails scraped at the nape of her neck and jerked on her hair a little too hard. Watching his stolid concentration, she bit her bottom lip and tried hard to remember to breathe.

When he finished, he brought his hands back to his sides, almost reluctantly, and moved to tie on the new/old blue silk before River's hands grabbed at his wrists.

Tenderly, she slipped the silk from his palms and pushed the collar of his shirt up so the tops brushed the bottom of his cheeks. She looped the blue bow-tie around his neck with such ease he had to wonder if she'd done this a million times before, and tried with all the effort he could muster to not look her in the eye as she comfortably tied the blue cloth around his neck.

She patted the perfectly-tied bow-tie once, but didn't remove her hand. He coughed, uneasy, and she quickly dropped her hand to her side.

He turned around and left the tent as fast as his legs could carry him, not stopping in their trek until he was safely inside the TARDIS, setting the controls to hurtle him through the vortex.

Once he was completely sure of his changed coordinates, the Doctor slunk down with his back against the console, his fingers dragging the skin of his face downwards as he hung his head in his hands.

And then he tried, not for the first time, to convince himself he could never fall in love with a murderer.


	77. Fairytale of New York

Disclaimer: Nothing has changed, the BBC owns Doctor Who and its affiliates. I'm glad that's so.

**Merry Christmas! Here's a fluffy Christmas gift for you guys. At least I've been a little more regular as far as updates go. I should warn you guys, though: I think at Chapter 100 I'm going to end the series, because I can't give you all any sort of commitment as far as updates and quality go, and that's not fair to you all. So at Chapter 100, a nice round number, I'm ending the series. I'll probably still try to update various other oneshots now and then, so keep yourselves alert if you want to read those. No promises, though.**

**As always, thank you for your loyalty. It's undeserved but I love it. Thank you _so_ much, and please read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Fairytale of New York-The Pogues<p>

_They've got cars big as bars,  
><em>_They've got rivers of gold,  
><em>_But the wind goes right through you:  
><em>_It's no place for the old.  
><em>_When you first took my hand  
><em>_On a cold Christmas Eve,  
><em>_You promised me  
><em>_Broadway was waiting for me._

* * *

><p>A tree in the window, electric red and bright blue and neon green, a wreath on the door: this was it. No doubt about it. Yellow icicle bulbs dangled from the ceiling, sloping in waves around the walls, their twinkle the color her hair gets in broad sunlight. He ran his hands up and down the black iron-rail leading up to her home, anxious. The Doctor loved Christmas more than anything, that was true, but the idea of spending it alone with River seemed oddly domestic. The worst part about it was that he could not decide whether or not this was a bad thing.<p>

Taking determined, slow steps to her door, he knocked, once, twice, three raps in quick succession. He gulped and took a breath to ease his nerves, and the door opened.

River smiled before him, leaning on the door for support, a half-empty wine glass dangling between two fingers. Her hair was corkscrew curls set on the loose, wild and unruly and absolutely everywhere. She wore a Christmas jumper (odd to think that River Song, universes' most wanted, owned a _Christmas_ sweatshirt) of red and white, a stylishly grandma-esque pattern that went well with her tight denim jeans. Warm, fluffy socks were pulled halfway up her calves, one of them rumpled and lower than the other.

She was disheveled and breathless, and waved in him wordlessly. She grinned from ear-to-ear as she ushered him in, one hand tugging on his tweed to pull him forwards. He allowed the rough groping and entered, sheepishly stuffing his hands in his pockets. She walked past him, still without so much as a hello, and went back into the room with tree.

The Doctor followed, curious and uncomfortable, but brightened as soon as he saw the Ponds.

"And it's the Ponds!" he ran right up to Amy, hugged her tight, and went for a very unmanly embrace with Rory. The ex-Roman patted him awkwardly and sat back down on one of River's love-seats, his legs folded beneath him. Amy dropped down and snuggled against him, his arm resting around her shoulders. "Merry Christmas!"

Amy laughed and took another swig of wine, placing the glass on the ground beside her feet. "You were right, River, he had absolutely no idea."

"What are you pair doing here? Shouldn't you be in Leadworth? In the 21st century?"

Rory shrugged. "River stopped by with her time travelling wristband-"

"Vortex manipulator," River interrupted, with a wink.

"Right, time manipulator whatever, and invited us over for the holiday. Can't say no to our little girl, can we?"

River snorted. "I was never your little girl, Dad."

"You were and you are," he stated firmly, though there was a definite playfulness in his tone. "Besides, she mentioned _you_ might be stopping by, and Amy cancelled all our plans in a second."

The Doctor straightened his bow-tie, happily proud. "She did, did she?"

Amy laughed at him. "Oi, don't get too bigheaded about it."

The Doctor stuck his tongue out at Amy and, out of the corner of his eye, watched River settle herself on the perch of their couch, one finger circling the rim of the glass. "How long has it been?" he asked.

"Eight months," Amy answered. "Eight months, and not even a postcard from some ridiculous hat planet. You've got some explaining to do."

He could not stop grinning, smiling at the Ponds, his hearts threatening to burst in the light of the Christmas tree. He sat himself down on the floor, much to his audience's amusement, and picked up ripped wrapping from the floor. "Been opening presents without me, eh?"

River waved it aside. "I bought them each enough presents to make a child satisfied, but Amy couldn't wait. I let her open _one_."

Amy brought out a dazzling jewel from her bosom, encrusted in silver and hanging from a platinum thread. "Isn't it beautiful? River said she picked it up on one of her travels." She hummed happily.

The Doctor arched an eyebrow at River, who blushed, and neither commented on the immense worth of the gem nor the circumstance which must have arose for it to have been placed in River's possession. He would scold her later.

Rory pointed at him with one lazy finger. "Doctor, what have you been doing since we last saw you? What have you been up to?"

The next couple of hours were spent lounging in River's living room, the three Ponds laughing tirelessly at the Doctor's numerous stories, each madder than the last. Some were tales of old Earth scientists, others the recounting of intoxicated dancing, even more the telling of getting into trouble. River smiled all the way through, her face flushing pinker and pinker with each chuckle. By the end of his talk, the Doctor was beaming.

"You've been busy, then," Amy said, in-between giggles. "I see why you haven't popped in for a visit."

The Doctor nodded towards the door, avoiding the subject. "Have you all had dinner yet? It's not Christmas without a turkey."

River held out a hand, stopping her parents from standing up. "I've got it, I've got it. You two stay in here while I set up. Doctor, you can help, as long as you don't touch anything."

"Which means I can do what?"

"Stand there and look pretty."

He pouted. "I'm carving the turkey, and that's all there is to it."

River sighed. "Well come on, then."

They left Amy and Rory cuddling on the couch and moved into the kitchen, the Doctor huddling close behind River as she dropped the glasses in the sink.

"Now," she began, turning around to face him. But before she could continue, the Doctor whipped his hands to the counter on either side of her, pinning her to the sink. He kissed her soundly, thoroughly, utterly pleased to have caught her so surprised. She sighed into his mouth and reached up to cradle his face, soft thumbs tickling the underside of his chin.

He withdrew, breathless, and rested his forehead on hers. "Merry Christmas," he mumbled.

She chuckled, dropping her hands to his shoulders. "I bet you've just been _waiting_ to do that."

He smiled. "I wasn't expecting your parents, in fairness."

One of her hands shifted to trace the line of one brace, idly. "The turkey needs to be carved by someone sooner rather than later, before my parents figure out we aren't coming back."

"They won't notice anything," he whispered, ghosting his lips over her temple.

She barked with laughter. "Please, Doctor, have you met my mother? I wouldn't put it past her to be spying on us right now."

At that, he quickly raised his hands from their place beside her hips and swiveled sharply to check for any stray Pond in the doorway. He was relieved to see they were still alone.

"Now, I need that eye of yours. Which blue looks better with the tablecloth, the light one or the dark one?"

When River and the Doctor had finally finished their round of 'let's-set-the-table-no-wait-let's-snog-no-really-we-need-to-get-this-done,' they called for Amy and Rory to come into the dining room. They even managed to not look too rumpled. Amy arched a suggestive brow at River, who winked, but Rory didn't seem to notice anything. The ensuing dinner was delicious (really, a number one criminal who had a Christmas jumper and could _cook_?) and filled with warm memories and new ones.

The Doctor learned of daily life on Earth, secretly glad he never had such routine, while Amy and Rory relived old adventures and heard tell of even more new ones, secretly pleased they no longer had to worry about the safety of the universe every morning. River said little, ate even less, but seemed to smile at everything her guests shared. She was happy, undoubtedly, but the Doctor, having the courage and familiarity of an old lover, knew something was wrong.

Dinner ended later than usual and the Ponds went to bed around ten, borrowing River's bedroom and completely exhausted. Seeing their old friend had tired them out, and there was still much to do tomorrow. River cleaned up the table and sent the Doctor into the living room to fiddle with ornaments, refusing to allow him to handle any breakable (and incredibly rare) platters or utensils.

When River had finally finished the washing up, she found the Doctor tinkering with the legs of her coffee-table in an effort to make them mobile. She laughed, and picked him up from his sprawl on the floor, pulling him to the couch. He plopped onto the sofa and tugged her into him by her waist, his fingers finding that hourglass mold the perfect fit to his hands.

She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed. The Christmas lights were the only ones on now, and the whole room glowed to the exuberance of movie-worthy lighting. It was peacefully quiet, and the Doctor found a pleasant content settling in his stomach.

"I'm glad you came," she whispered. "I wasn't sure you would."

He frowned. "Is that why you invited the Ponds?"

"And in the case it turned out to be a younger you. I wasn't about to have my Christmas ruined by a babbling schoolboy with a crush. Plus, they _are_ my parents."

He smiled despite himself. "Merry Christmas, River." He kissed her on the head.

She burrowed further into him. "Do you remember the Christmas when you showed up head-to-toe in a Santa suit?"

He grinned sheepishly. "Some ideas are better than others, I admit."

"Or when we saved Amsterdam's 1944 Christmas?"

He nodded. "You wore bright red heels and Christmas light-earrings. Which were highly explosive, if I recall correctly."

"Oh you do," she grinned.

He sighed again, tracing small circles on her shoulder. "We never checked diaries," he noted.

"Didn't have to," she yawned, framing her mouth with a hand. "I knew you knew who I was."

"How?"

She smiled lazily, stroking the red of his bow-tie. "You came."

"I like adventures and mystery, and you're a lot of both. Younger me might have come hoping for a couple of answers."

"Not on Christmas," she breathed out. "Christmas family dinners terrify you."

"Not all of them."

She chuckled. "Ones with me, though, I'm sure."

He remained quiet, unwilling to admit to the truth in that statement. On a good day, River terrified him, and on Christmas, well, all bets were off.

"I know you're dying to know, so you might as well ask."

He frowned. "What?"

She sat up, crossing her legs underneath her, and faced him on the couch. "You've been staring at me worriedly all night."

"Oh," he shifted. "That."

She stood up from the sofa and walked over to the tree, facing away from him. Bringing one restless hand up to play with an ornament, she began. "It's Christmas. I should be happy to see my parents. I should be eager to swing to old favorites, greedy for home-baked cookies, barely able to contain my excitement for opening gifts tomorrow. But," she hesitated, turning towards him. "All I can think about is leaving this god-awful apartment and _going_ somewhere, doing something. I've been here less than a week and I'm so bored I could take on a Dalek fleet and it would feel like Charades."

River walked over to the mantle and fingered a stocking.

"It's winter. I'm wearing a cozy sweatshirt. You're here. So why aren't I happy?"

When he looked her next in the eye, there was an unmistakable sheen of tears. He got up as quickly as he could and strode over to her, taking her hands in his. "River, River, River," he sighed, kissing away the wetness on her cheeks. "Oh, my River."

"Can we go?" she whispered, breathless. "Can we just leave? We don't have to tell my parents. I can have us back in time for the morning, easily. I don't think I can stand another minute in this artificially-lit up room. Please, Doctor, will you take me somewhere beautiful?"

He laughed, squeezing her hand. "I thought you'd never ask.


	78. Consider This

Disclaimer: All rights to the BBC, etc.

**Hello again! So here's a song suggestion by 'Trialia,' from...October. This is an example of: I have definitely read your suggestions I just am not punctual. Which means you shouldn't worry if you've given me an idea I have yet to respond to! There's still time.**

**Happy New Year, by the way! I hope 2012 is better than 2011 for everyone (I won't say the best, because I'm hoping that each year will progress in goodness), and here's a little New Years chapter for you all.**

**Thanks as always for everything you've given me, and please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Consider This-Anna Nalick<p>

_You're kinda cool but I know better than to break the rules,  
><em>_I'm messin' with a lesson that I'll never learn.  
><em>_I'll go from bad to worse and later back to better  
><em>_But I'll never better bridges that I'm bent to burn._

_And dreaming doesn't do no good  
><em>_'Cause I don't wanna lie  
><em>_That I'm okay and I'm alright,  
><em>_I'd rather take it and forget it.  
><em>_Consider this a warning._

* * *

><p>The door to River's flat lay open before him. The Doctor looked around, disconcerted, trying not to be too worried. He splayed his palm against the wood and pushed lightly, gasping only slightly when the door creaked and opened of its own accord. He peeked his head in, looking for a sign of River, before finally entering and shutting the door closed behind him.<p>

He scanned the room in front of him, which, if he thought about it, was quite a pointless thing to do. But he did so anyways, and was unsurprised when the readings read back nothing of importance. He sighed and tucked his screwdriver into his jacket pocket, then padded softly into the kitchen.

Still nothing. A few dishes cluttered up the sink but they weren't too old or grimy, and one of River's coats was hanging off the back of her chair. One of her favorite guns even remained forgotten on the table.

He scratched the back of his head, pondering the clues. River was obviously still around, wasn't she? She wouldn't leave her gun at home. But there were so signs of warfare or a fight-she couldn't have been taken by force. Even if she did give up a fight, why clean the apartment? The more he looked around, the clearer it became: no, she was definitely still here.

"River?"

Silence. He glided throughout the flat, picking up various odds and ends and a few essays yet to be written. He flicked through the pages of one very old, very rare book before pocketing it and moving to her bedroom. The door was closed, which caused him to hesitate, but he persevered through his anxiety and knocked quietly on the white wood.

"Sweetie?" Her voice, drowsy and still sleep-filled, came from the other side of the door. "Come in, my love."

What awaited him caught the breath in his throat, and for a moment the Doctor forgot how to breathe. River was nothing but skin, half-covered by a rumpled white sheet, her hair fanning out on the pillow beneath her head. He took in the disheveled other side of the bed and gulped, before awkwardly scratching his neck and averting his eyes.

"Oh honey, it's nothing you haven't seen before," she mused, pulling the sheet up further. He brought his eyes back to hers. She frowned. "Why are you dressed?"

He swallowed, and everything clicked: the open door, the gun on the table (and not on its rightful place by her thigh), the crinkled bed-sheets. Not only was River still here, but apparently _he_ had just come and left. _And_, apparently, River had no idea. "Well, I.." he trailed off, turning pink. "Good morning."

She smiled, stretching herself out like a satisfied cat. He only blinked once when the sheet dropped from her shoulders to her hips, baring her chest. He coughed and she frowned again, crossing her arms. "I don't know why you're so bashful. Honestly, after last night, and all the nights before that. You'd think you'd get less awkward over time."

He turned bright red, causing her to laugh.

"If it makes you that shy, my love, I'll cover up." She pulled the sheet back up and wrapped herself in it tight, combing her fingers through unruly ringlets. "How did you sleep?"

"Fine," he squeaked, though from where he didn't know. Was he going to lie to her? Was this a good idea? Wouldn't she be able to tell? This was River, after all. She always knew. "You?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "I slept well, yes. I tend to with you. But don't take that too much to heart; your ego's big enough as it is."

He drew forth a chuckle from within his racing chest and grinned at her. "I'll try," he smirked.

She got up from the bed and walked over to him, and each step she took seemed to erase another pointless memory from his mind. He memorized the slant of her legs, the way her eyes glittered in the sunlight streaking through the shutters, the curve of her waist concealed by white cotton. She straightened his bow-tie and unconsciously bit her lip. "Is there something you aren't telling me?"

_I was stopping by for an adventure and now you're telling me we have an avid sex life?_ "No, not at all, of course not. Why do you ask?"

She locked his eyes with hers. "That's not the bow-tie you showed up in last night."

"Yes, well, I popped back in the TARDIS...to change. Before you woke up."

"To change?"

He gulped. Blimey, was this a new habit now? "Yep."

"You're ridiculous."

He let out the anxious breath he'd been holding and smiled, grateful for the familiar banter. "Hardly. That's a matter of perception." He bopped her on the nose.

"Is it?" she laughed. She took another step forwards, completely disregarding any concept of personal space, and leaned up to whisper in his ear. "You're lucky I happen to like that about you."

"You do?" he croaked.

She pressed a small kiss to his neck. "Don't tell anybody. I've got a reputation to uphold."

"Oh-okay..." he whispered, momentarily distracted by her barely-clothed figure and the way it was pressing itself against his. "River, I don't-"

And then she was kissing him, and he completely forgetting the insanity of the moment, and he was utterly surprised to discover that his hands had found their way to her waist. He certainly wasn't the one who had put them there. Definitely not.

Nor was he the one who helped them stumble over to the bed, where he promptly did _not_ kick off his shoes and socks.

River climbed on top of him and pulled at his bow-tie with her teeth, drawing it towards her with a single tug. He shuddered when she succeeded in pulling it loose, catching it between her teeth before allowing to to flutter to the floor, where it was soon joined by his braces.

River's nails raked down his chest as he found his fingers make their way to the simple knot of her sheet, temperamentally picking at the unfortunate piece of cloth.

She moaned into his mouth and sat up, reached her hands behind her back, and unhooked the sheet, allowing it to billow softly to the floor and add to the growing pile of clothing. His eyes flashed open wide and she grinned wickedly, sliding down to remove his shirt tails from his trousers.

"Know what I love?" she breathed against the bare skin of his stomach. "How every time we do this, no matter how many times you've seen me like this-" she pauses, smiling up at him. "You act like it's the first time. Like you've never seen anything more beautiful."

His stomach dropped with guilt as she moved to unbutton his trousers, and he grabbed her wrists, pinning them to her side. "River," he choked out, more hoarse than strictly necessary. "Stop."

She tugged her hands back and lay one on his chest, over his left heart. "What's wrong?"

He slid out from under her and sat up against the headboard, scratching his neck. "There's something I haven't told you."

Without warning, River reached for the sheet and tucked it under her chin. The Doctor was struck how it was, for the first time, River acting like she were naked. "What, Doctor?"

He gulped. Again. "I left you." It came out much too fast and was entirely not what he had planned to say.

"What?" She furrowed her brow in confusion.

"Me, well, that past me - or the future me, in your past - he, I mean, I..." he trailed off. "I just got here. Minutes ago."

"Oh?" This didn't seem to be mind-blowing news for her. "You never stay long. Especially not in the mornings." she smiled. "In fact, it was awfully nice of you to time it so that'd you come back wanting more. Maybe this time we can even have breakfast together."

None of her words were making any sense. "What?" Did he do this often? Stay for the night, then leave before she woke up? What kind of person was he?

She frowned. God, did he hate the frown. "Doctor? Are you alright?"

"I-I don't know."

She leaned closer, reaching out to stroke the side of his cheek. "My love?"

He backed away and jumped down from the bed, erratically picking up his clothes from the floor. He pulled his braces on in one quick swipe, totally forgetting to re-button his shirt. He roped the silk of his bow-tie around his neck, deciding not to tie it altogether. "I shouldn't be here. I'm sorry, River."

He turned and fled the room and her flat as quickly as he could, only stopping to breathe once at the doors of the TARDIS. He snapped and flew through the doors, panting. He closed the door behind him, slowly, and sunk down against the wood.

_That_ was unexpected. And the lying, the kissing, the major spoilers - all completely uncalled for. And unfair to her. And he had just seen River Song _naked_. And, worse, he had liked it.

Picking himself up from the floor, he walked up to the console and flicked a few levers before throwing himself into the Vortex. Safe and solitary, him and the TARDIS, floating in the axis of Time itself.

He raised a hand to his mouth and licked his lips, tasting where River had so recently been. He closed his eyes, attempting to nudge away the pounding headache, and opened his eyes to the suddenly glaring lights of the TARDIS.

He had run: as fast as he could, without looking back, leaving River to stew with two of his departures and the undeniable aches they caused her. He buried his face in his hands and held back tears. How could it have come to this?

Only moments before he'd been condemning the future him for doing just what he'd done; leaving her alone, without even thinking on it. How could he do that to River? He _had_ to go back. But as he pondered returning right that minute to apologize, an unprompted idea struck him speechless. He suddenly knew that if he went back, he'd never be able to leave.

So _that_ was why he had left, or would leave - because how could he wake up next to her every morning like that and _not_ stay? How would he ever leave?

He dropped his hands to his sides and sighed. When did this happen? When did he turn into a bumbling idiot with no idea how to treat women? River didn't deserve him. She deserved someone better, someone who wanted to spend their mornings cooking her eggs, making her toast, kissing away the sleep from her half-closed eyelids. Who was he to deny her that kind of love?

"Oh, River," he sighed, rubbing his jaw. His thumbs stilled on the underside of his chin, remembering the feeling of her nails against his stubble, her fingers on his skin, her body-

"Right. Okay," he muttered to himself. "That's something we do now. Me and River. We do...adult things...together. That's fine." Saying it out loud didn't make the truth any less terrifying, but he discovered he wasn't entirely frightened by the idea after all. In fact, some parts of him definitely seemed to delight in the prospect. He'd worry about that later.

"When did I become so _human_?" he asked the TARDIS, and the lights flickered, as if the ship herself were laughing at him. He swatted at the console. "No need for _you_ to laugh at me, too."

What did he do now? He couldn't go back to River, even some other her, and face her after that. The guilt would drown him, undoubtedly, and besides, all he'd be able to think about was the way her waist curved inwards and her hips flared out and all that golden skin that just _begged_ to be-

He straightened his bow-tie. There would be time for such thoughts as those, later. Right now, he needed guilty thoughts. Guilty and melancholy, and achy thoughts that left him winded long after he thought to think them. But River, by heaven, had looked so beautiful in nothing but her skin and her smile, and he found the back of his neck to bristle when he thought about the future him.

He was, somehow, unmistakably jealous of himself.

Future him got to kiss her and touch her and hold her in his arms, and then he would just _leave_ her there, as if she were some sort of booty call? As if she weren't the most precious thing in the universe? He wouldn't do that, not to her, especially not to her...but he knew he would, because he did, because he had, and because how could he stay?

He sighed. "Oh, Doctor. Silly old Doctor. You were never supposed to fall in love. Not again."

Suddenly, the flesh above his chest was burning where his jacket pocket positioned itself, and he withdrew his psychic paper before he knew what he was doing.

_Orion Nebula, 5145. Bring provisions, because I'm still serving my prison sentence at that time. We'll need a good cover. xx_

He read the message over and over again, despite the fact that it never changed. He let his eyes linger over the two final kisses, let himself imagine she meant it, and sighed once again. He had the universe to explore, but right now River Song, his River Song, needed him. How was he ever going to get on again


	79. Ruby, My Dear

Disclaimer: All rights to the BBC, no profit or infringement intended

**Hello again! Here's one I wrote to an instrumental piece by Thelonious Monk (If you haven't heard him, go check him out. Best thing you'll ever do) so I suppose the tone was impacted by that. Happy end of the holiday season!**

**Thank you so much for your reviews: they encourage me so much it's crazy. Please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Ruby, My Dear-Thelonious Monk<p>

_Instrumental_

* * *

><p>"River," he said one night, as city lights drowned out the stars. "What are we doing?"<p>

She laughed, then, and tossed back another shot. "Well it's New Years somewhere, Christmas somewhere else, and quite probably the 4th of July in one version of America or another. _I'm_ celebrating."

They stood on a balcony, in the biggest city of a planet River forgot the name of, in a galaxy thousands of light-years away from her home asteroid. Drunk party-goers sung and laughed around them, and the night swung with carefree music. The Doctor had pulled out his favorite tux (the black one, even better than the white one from their wedding night) and tried to persuade River to wear _that_ green dress, again, though she'd ignored him and gone for something a little more breezy.

He couldn't deny that had been a good choice; her beauty was almost ethereal in the delicate swish of indigo against her hips. Her lips were red and sinful, just the way he liked them. He loved these nights together, whisking her away for an evening of dancing (and trouble, whether or not it was intended, though it usually was). She seemed to like them too.

He smiled at her. "I can see that."

She winked at him, and looped her arms through his. "Come, my love." She led him to the far side of the balcony, away from the other attendees, and leaned her weight on the waist-high railing. "Why so pensive?"

"Hm?"

She pointed to his forehead. "What's going on in that ridiculous mind of yours?"

He pursed his lips and inspected her outstretched finger, admiring the nail color she'd chosen to match. "I like that red," he declared.

"Not really what I asked, honey."

"And that hairstyle. Truly, the curls are wonderful but it's fun when you mix it up. Different experience and all that." He reached forward and stroked the ponytail she had spent half an hour trying to coil perfectly. Not that he'd ever admit to it, but the effort had been worth the wait.

She arched an eyebrow. "Thank you, sweetie."

"And that _dress_," he breathed out, taking a step closer. He settled a hand on her waist, his fingers scrunching in the fabric, and smiled down at her. "Though you really should give the other one a chance."

She laughed outright and hooked her arms around his neck. "What's the matter with you?"

He frowned. "I don't know what you mean."

"You do."

"What?"

She sighed in exasperation. "Doctor, if you don't tell me what's wrong, I'm going to go home with the three-handed man who's been staring at me all night. Though now that I think about it, he might be staring at you." she paused. "That could be interesting."

"My bad girl," he murmured, fondly.

"Compliments won't get you anywhere, Doctor."

He sighed, and rubbed her back with his other hand. "What are we doing, River?"

She furrowed her brow and clicked her nails at the nape of his neck. "Has something happened?"

"No," he shook his head. "Nothing's happened."

He looked so sad then that River reached one hand around and stroked the hair out of his eyes, as if she were comforting a child. She dropped her hand to his shoulders and smoothed out the creases of his jacket.

"Yet," he began, finding words where there were none. "Yet..." he hesitated. "Don't you ever wonder if it's worth it?"

"If what's worth it, my love?"

He tugged her a fraction closer to him. "This. Dancing and nights and stars and you. And _us_, River. You're more than important to me, River, never forget that, but..."

She nodded, urging him to continue.

He swallowed. "Everything's got to end sometime."

"Otherwise nothing would ever get started," she reminded him.

He smiled sadly, moving both hands to encircle the small of her back, and looked over the cast-iron railing, down at the city streets below. "Endings are so sad, and-"

She brushed her fingers over his lips, effectively silencing him. "I'm not going to let you finish, because that sentence is not worth finishing. To put it frankly, I don't think about it. What's the use in 'if's,' my love? Why bother living at all if you spend your life questioning what's worth it and what isn't? That's what living is, being alive - figuring out what's worth your time and what's not."

"How poetic," he mused.

She smacked his shoulder lightly. "I don't really question why I love you. What's the point in that? I know that I do, my love. That's enough for me."

He frowned again, refusing to meet her gaze. She drew two fingers up and pushed his chin to face her.

"It's not for you, though, is it?"

He pursed his mouth.

She sighed. "Well," she licked her lips. "I love you, because you're clever, and ridiculous, and mad." For each adjective, she left a small kiss on his neck. "I love you because everyone told me not to, because I can. Because it was first thing I didn't have choice in, because my heart had already made it's choice."

He smiled a little, and tried to conceal it by biting the inside of his cheeks.

"And it's worth everything, my love, worth every empty teacup and night in prison and backwards meeting. It's worth it because you make _me_ feel worth it. You make me feel like I matter."

He chuckled. "And you would ever question that?"

"That's what I mean," she giggled. "I love you, and that's worth everything. Does that answer your question?"

He bit back a frown. "Sure."

"Don't lie to me. You're bad at it."

"Well then," he scoffed.

"Doctor," she warned.

He tightened his hold on her. "I haven't loved someone like this in a very long time."

She cocked her head to one side. "And what was different with me, then?"

He laughed, grinning down at her. "_You_, River Song, are the maddest, most infuriating, most stubborn, and-" he leaned in, ghosting a whisper in her ear. "-sexiest woman I've ever met."

She swatted at him. "Oh, stop it."

"Plus, when you show up, there's bound to be trouble. I do like trouble." He grinned a cheeky grin.

"But that's not why you fell in love with me, if you have at all."

"Of course I have, River."

She quirked a curious eyebrow. "Oh?"

He brought one hand up to stroke the back of her neck. "I'm hopelessly in love with you, Doctor Song. And I wish to Gallifrey I weren't."

Something twinkled in her eyes then that he would never forget. Happiness embodied, surely, and suddenly he understood what everything meant, why it all mattered. If he could make her eyes shine like that, maybe the misery was worth it - in fact, it most definitely was.

"Who ever thought the old man could be so romantic?" she said softly.

"I've been corrupted," he mumbled. "I've gone all soft."

She leaned in, her lips inches from his. "And whose fault is that?"

"Yours," he whispered, before closing the gap and kissing her. He forgot his reluctance and remembered that look in her eyes and kissed her harder, wrapping his arms around her as he not-so-subtly led them over to the TARDIS.

The doors opened on instinct as they stumbled in, and the old ship even prepared a bedroom for them on the first door of the left corridor. That night, as they made love, the Doctor forgot what it meant to be afraid. The Doctor allowed himself to trust in River Song, his equal, and spent the night worshipping her faith in him when he had none left himself.

"River," he whispered against slick skin. "I love you."

"I know," she smiled.

"Always," he breathed out, air brushing a racing pulse.

"Completely," she agreed


	80. Home

Disclaimer: All rights to the BBC, etc, tedium.

**Hello loves! Sorry I've been away for a while, I haven't felt any urge to write (oops, awks) so...I haven't. And my life's been fairly good lately, so this is some shameless fluff for you all. IF you want some angst or something of that sort, please do say so, because I've been leaning towards joy and happiness and rainbows recently. I totally understand if that stuff makes you sick.**

**Anywho, here's a nice little piece for you all (and I _do_ have suggestions yet to fill; if I haven't done yours yet, don't worry! There's time!**

**Thanks as always, because you guys mean a lot to me. Really, I never imagined the series would be this successful and it's encouraged me to really enter into the world of fanfiction, so thank you for that. Genuinely.**

**As usual, please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Home-Edward Sharpe &amp; the Magnetic Zeros<p>

_I'll follow you into the park;  
><em>_Through the jungle, through the dark.  
><em>_Girl, I never loved one like you._

_Moats and boats and waterfalls,  
><em>_Alleyways and pay phone calls,  
><em>_I've been everywhere with you._

* * *

><p>Bare feet fly over grass as they run, faster and harder and reckless. The straps of her shirt slide down her shoulders but she doesn't stumble to lift them up; she runs, breathless, laughing. He reaches out to grab her waist but she eludes him, ducking and dodging and radiant.<p>

Her hair, half-loose of its restraints, tumbles down her shoulders and flies behind her as she runs. A wicked glint won't leave her eyes and she smiles so brilliantly that the Doctor finds the energy to catch up and scoop her into his arms, with only little protest. She fights him off half-heartedly until she collapses into the embrace, tucking her face into his neck by way of his shoulder. He drops his hands to the small of her back and holds her tightly, firmly.

He decides then and there that he will never let her go.

River, having caught her breath, leans back and away from him, trusting in his arms to keep her from falling. He holds her steady and she smiles, still panting, and he kisses her because there isn't anything else he could possibly do at a moment like this. She kisses him back and they forget the world for a little while, weightless and together. They kiss, and they forget.

She breaks the kiss and pulls the straps of her shirt up, laughing as the Doctor simultaneously nuzzles her neck. She pats him once on the cheek, now a new kind of breathless, and loops her arms around his shoulders.

"I won," she grins.

He chuckles into her skin and draws back, studying the laugh lines and curving features of her face. He's never seen anything more beautiful than River when she's happy. "I'm not sure about that," he raises an eyebrow. "You cheated."

She winks. "We never said cheating _wasn't_ allowed."

"It was implied."

"Well, where's the fun in that?"

He laughs and tugs her closer. "Throwing your shoes in my way is by no means fair."

"I said fun, not fair."

He mocks a pout and shakes his head. "I could have tripped. Tripped, fallen, tumbled down the cliff and into the rocks and been impaled, right then and there. Regeneration would have been a nasty business, what with the rocky piercing of death stuck in my chest. And it would have been all your fault."

"Killed you once, killed you twice, who knows? Lucky number three."

"That's not funny."

She laughs and kisses his cheek, but doesn't pull back.

They stand there for a moment, quiet, listening to the sound of water crashing against rock a hundred feet below, wrapped up in the summer winds that curl around them like a mother's embrace. Crimson, orange, and rosy pinks melt together and shimmer the velvet sky in the distance, reflecting a royal purple onto the ocean horizon. The grass below them has changed colors in the light and is no longer richly green but something resembling a dark blue, and River's hair burns bright in the setting sun.

Their hearts synch a rhythm of eight beats and the Doctor can't remember ever feeling more content; for once, he's happy. The sudden realization hits him that when River's happy, he's happy. He tugs her even closer and smiles into her burning, golden waves.

"Doctor," she murmurs, into the crease of his jaw. "You're hurting me."

He blushes and releases her just a little, if somewhat reluctantly. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she says, and she means it.

After a few more minutes of silence, he speaks. "I love this, you know."

She eyes him bemusedly, if not tenderly. "What do you mean?"

"This. Traveling with you, watching stars die and be reborn, saving galaxies together, and the kissing isn't half bad either," he smirks. She snorts. "You make it all fun again."

She sighs, and there's something in her eyes that almost reads as endless devotion, and he kisses her again. That's something he does now, apparently.

"Me too," she mumbles, once they've broken again. "I love it."

They stand in silence once more, watching the sun set.

"River," he murmurs.

"Yes?"

He takes a deep breath, holds it in. She waits. "I haven't had a home in a very long time. And when I did, I didn't realize how much it meant to me until I lost it. Until I destroyed it." His voice almost breaks, but he forces himself to continue. "Home. It's such a strange concept, isn't it? Everyone has one, it seems, a place they can say is all theirs, with memories and family and that certain comfort that comes at the end of the day." He falters and finally pauses, turning his eyes to the ground.

She strokes his shoulder. "The TARDIS isn't your home?"

The Doctor smiles but doesn't meet her gaze, and answers softly. "The TARDIS, well, she's my old girl. She's all mine, that's true, but she's not _home_ exactly...she's like a person, really. She's an old friend. The oldest."

River nods, accepting this (though silently disagreeing, but it's not worth the argument).

"But you, River..." he trails off, and finally turns his eyes back up to hers, meeting her gaze. "Home is whenever I'm with you."

The sheer honesty and vulnerability in his voice knocks her off balance and she even feels faint; she chides herself internally, that an intergalactic criminal such as herself can fall weak in the knees over a _man_. She can't think of what to say to that, so she gapes stupidly for a few moments before he blushes and looks away.

She doesn't want him to think she's uncomfortable, or embarrassed, but there aren't any words that seem to carry the weight she needs. But a kiss could never begin to describe what she feels, nor could a smile, and for the first time in a very long while, River feels so very lost.

His grips loosens, the smallest bit, so she presses herself closer and lets the tear she's been holding back escape down one cheek.

"Don't tell anyone," she whispers.

"What?" he asks, confused.

She smiles through watery eyes. "You're my greatest weakness."

He frowns, and cups her face in his hands, and she feels so impossibly small. "Love isn't a weakness, River." he hesitates, rephrases. "Not that I'm saying you love me, don't take that the wrong way...I know I'm vain, I'm sorry-"

Her laughter cuts him off, and she hugs him tightly. "I love you more than anything else in the universe. And I've never had a home before," she says, drawing back. "But I'm glad it's you."

He kisses her again, and they try to forget that falling is love is probably is the stupidest, most marvelous thing they've ever done


	81. Book of Love

Disclaimer: All rights to the BBC, etc.

**Hey guys, I'm sorry I haven't updated in a while. I'm really busy and a quick stomach bug and yadda yadda, but I wrote this a long while ago and never put it up, so here you are! Don't attack me for more shameless fluff, sigh. I'll work on less happy things, I promise.**

**As always, thank you for everything, and please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Book of Love-Peter Gabriel<p>

_The book of love has music in it,  
><em>_In fact that's where music comes from.  
><em>_Some of it's just transcendental,  
><em>_Some of it's just really dumb._

_But I  
><em>_I love it when you sing to me  
><em>_And you  
><em>_You can sing me anything._

* * *

><p>The Doctor was off exploring some obscure area of the beach when a young woman walked up to River, tidying a stray lock of hair behind her ear. River didn't even notice her at first; from her spot on the bench, River gazed and watched as the Doctor whizzed around, picking up little shells and throwing them back into the ocean. She smiled softly to herself.<p>

"Excuse me?"

River snapped out of her daydream and turned her attention to the dark-skinned beauty in front of her.

She smiled pleasantly. "Can I help you?"

The girl looked to be about eighteen or so, wearing the customary fashion of teenagers in this century. She was a delicate sort of pretty, with a sharp nose and thin lips and defined, precise cheekbones that made her look like she were thinking truly hard on something.

"Yes, sorry, I just..." she hesitated, shifting her eyes to the sand and back up to River. "Who's that man?"

River tilted her head at the girl, and bit her lip. "Why do you ask?"

The girl blushed, and stuffed her hands in her pockets. "I was reading just over there-" she pointed to a checkered blanket lying a few yards away. "And I looked up, and, well." she gulped. "I've never seen two people look more in love."

River felt a smile creep onto her face as she inspected the girl, memorizing the blue tint in her eyes and the way she held herself, in case these things would come in handy later. "Oh?"

"The way he looks at you," she sighed. "I just had to say something. I'm sorry, I don't ever do things like this; I just had to tell you, I'm really sorry-"

River laughed and patted the bench beside her. "Sit. What's your name?"

"Lucy."

"Hello, Lucy. I'm River. Pleased to meet you."

The girl's hands fidgeted with the fringe on her skirt, never quite staying still. "I hope you don't think I'm imposing, or strange..."

Laying her hands gently on top of Lucy's, River grinned. "Strange strangers are my favorite kind."

"How long have you know him?" The frankness with which the girl asked her questions surprised River, seeing as though the poor thing could barely keep from shaking, and she felt a wave of matronly affection wash over her as she turned to face her new friend.

"A long time," she sighed. She paused, gazing over at the Doctor, who was currently tweaking some little child's sandcastle. Both seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves. "I've known that man forever, sometimes." she hesitated. "Or that's what it feels like."

Lucy crinkled her nose in confusion. "Okay...how did you meet?"

River only laughed again, and Lucy reacted with that characteristic blush that browned the ebony in her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, just say if I'm pushing or being nosy, and I'll stop-"

She gestured for her to stop, smiling. "There's nothing wrong with asking questions, Lucy. Answers are much more dangerous."

"I suppose," she responded. "Then how did you meet?"

"It's a long story."

Lucy frowned. "You don't have to tell me. We've only just met."

"What book were you reading?"

The girl made a surprised face, as if she'd completely forgotten about her book. She leaned down and fished through her bag, dragging out a thick tome. She handed it over to River.

"Oh wow," River grinned. "I read this my freshman year. Student, are you?"

Lucy nodded.

River leafed through the pages, licking her thumb now and then to unstick old paper. "I'm a professor. At the Luna University."

"What's your specialty?"

"Archaeology."

"I never did get the hang of dead things."

River laughed, and patted the girl on the knee. She looked up again at the Doctor, currently still waist-deep in his creation of a sand empire. "He hates it. Can't understand why I like it. Never has."

"That doesn't bother you?" Lucy cocked her head.

River shook her head. "We have our own lives. Just the way I like it."

Lucy settled herself more comfortably on the bench, and smiled at the curly-haired woman beside her. "Tell me more about him."

"Well," she chuckled. "He's brilliant. Really, I swear, an absolute genius. And he knows it too, the bastard. He's arrogant, and vain, and incredibly selfish. He's the wellspring of enthusiasm, the knight in shining armor, and the mightiest warrior in the universe. He drowns out the sun by accident and likes his coffee black. Some people worship him while others dread him, and he hates himself almost as much as I love him. At the end of the day, though, he's a good man. The best man I've ever known."

Lucy sat quietly for a little while, mulling over her thoughts. The Doctor happened to look up, wave, and smile as wide as the moon as he gestured to his ever-growing sand kingdom. River laughed, and nodded, and smiled to herself as the bow-tie wearer went back to chatting with his cohort.

"He looks at you like he can't see anything else."

River hadn't heard her. "Hm?"

"I said that he looks at you like he can't see anything else."

"Does he?" she mused. "The silly old fool."

Lucy gulped. "I hope you don't mind me prying, but he looks fairly young."

River's eyes glowed with something mischievous when she replied. "He's older than he looks. Much older."

"Oh." They sat in silence for another minute or so, before Lucy grew restless again. "I think he really loves you."

River sighed. "That man, that impossible man." she nodded and looked Lucy squarely in the eye. "In his own way, he does."

Lucy gathered her things and stood up, stretching her hand out to shake. "It was very nice to meet you, River."

"And you, Lucy." she shielded her eyes from the sun with a hand on her forehead.

"Don't you hurt him, now. No matter how stupid he gets. He loves you."

River smiled a little sadly, and stole a quick glance at him. "I know."

Lucy grinned a crooked smile before walking away to settle back down on her blanket. River watched her go with a wistful sort of nostalgia, remembering old times and young hearts. She turned her head to see the Doctor coming towards her, plastic blue shovel in one hand.

He came to stand next to the bench, towering over her and blocking out the sun. "Who was that?"

River shrugged. "I don't really know."

The Doctor glanced quickly over at the girl, now properly absorbed in her book. "What did she say?"

River smiled to herself, playing with the lines of her palm. "She liked my hair."

"She did?" That seemed to brighten him up. "Rightfully so, it's rather nice."

She laughed and held out a hand, which he took, to pull her up beside him. "You made a friend as well, I think. That's quite a moat you've got going there."

He grinned. "I've been busy."

River stole another look at Lucy, then the little boy, but when she looked back up at the Doctor, her breath caught in her throat. He was gazing at her, eyes glued to her face, such a look of love that could never be described. She parted her lips, barely felt the air flowing between them, and was not too surprised when he pressed his own to hers, softly.

"What was that for?" she whispered, when they broke.

"Because I love you," he teased. He squeezed her hand before putting his own on her shoulder.

She smiled


	82. What the Water Gave Me

Disclaimer: All respective rights to the BBC.

**Hello again, after so much time away! I actually wrote this a while back and just never posted it and, unfortunately, I can't remember who suggested this song (I'm so sorry and feel super bad so just message me your name and I'll give you credit!), but here you are.**

**Thank you so much, as always, and please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>What the Water Gave Me-Florence + the Machine<p>

_Time: it took us  
><em>_To where the water was,  
><em>_That's what the water gave me  
><em>_And time goes quicker  
><em>_Between the two of us.  
><em>_Oh, my love, don't forsake me,  
><em>_Take what the water gave me._

* * *

><p>Her blue devils devour his hellfire, dancing on the grave they build for themselves. She gives love freely and takes unreliable promises. His kisses are his penitence.<p>

He vividly remembers the days he didn't trust her and the nights spent wandering aimlessly about the universe, avoiding her. He brings death and she life, and they weave around each other like her hair between his fingers. Golden hair soft as silk, much softer than the mask she dons as criminal. The man of peace has fallen in love with the universe's most wanted, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Her lips curl smoky lies that belie her true tenderness; she is always gentle with him. They are surprisingly intimate lovers.

His fingers play notes on her piano waist as she draws lazy circles on his back, each pressing and dragging and going ever, ever so slowly. Passion fades to affection in their kisses, always beginning with a boundless hunger and ending in a simple brush of his lips over hers. It sends shivers down her spine every time.

Ink marks her memories onto parchment paper and she feels the ache of him in her bones, calling to her at night when her only comfort is a storm outside of her cell. She's always had a thing for storms.

When he shows up and barely knows her, she can feel her throat crack like the desert landscape and water offers no solace; she is alone with the things she has done. He probes her with impossible questions that have the universe dangling between them, only he doesn't know that yet. She doesn't know if he ever will.

When she was younger and bolder, she sacrificed all the worlds that could ever exist without the blink of an eye; all she knew was that she loved him, even if loving him meant truly _knowing_ him.

People use the Doctor every day of his life, whether as a scapegoat, a savior, a soldier. He fulfills all their roles without reluctance and does his task well. This, of all things, breaks her heart.

She doesn't see him as anything but what he is: the daft old man who stole a magic box and ran away. Only that box is her mother and that man her lover, and the more she runs from him the sooner they run into each other. It's really quite a small universe, sometimes.

The Doctor has his devils in her pocket and her hearts in his, though he hardly deems it a fair trade.

She loves him more than anyone else in the universe, and he will never understand why. He doesn't think he deserves her.

Old promises keep tomorrow moving forward and he refuses to ponder his foreknowledge. Foreknowledge is dangerous, and they tread on strings far thinner than they should. They break rules because they are greedy and selfish, and sometimes they forget to bear the weight of the universe on their backs. Sometimes they remember and they choose not to care.

The greatest poetry has all been written about the greatest of love stories, but their poetry is hidden away in blue-bound books that hold the secrets of time and space in fading ink and torn pages. Some pages are coffee-stained and others ripped clean out; like their owners, they are erratic and impassioned. And old.

So very, very old.

He whispers her name like a benediction, whispers it into the skin of her stomach and the creases of her lips. When she smiles, she smiles for him and he has never felt such love burn into his soul than when she grins. Beautiful.

His love for her has made him forget the universe and throw caution to the wind. What is caution between two daredevils and four hearts?

Monsters shoot thrills down the backs of these two individuals who have seen so much and done so little, who have conquered and vanquished and murdered and loved. They fight monsters because that's all they have left, at the end of the day, when they have already been around that block twice. They know the block like the back of their hand.

Apathy was only a myth until they woke up one morning, entangled in the other's limbs. Downy sheets and warm chests and rising breaths taught them the importance of sleeping in, the importance of letting the universe run itself for a little while.

There will be time to run and time to hide, time to laugh and time to cry, time to save and time to fall, but most of all, there will be time to love.

For now, they have better things to do


	83. How to Disappear Completely

Disclaimer: the usual

**Hello again! Update update update, here's a long one with characters who aren't just the Doctor and River. PLEASE tell me what you think, your opinion matters to me!**

**As always, thanks for the undeserved loyalty and please continue to read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>How to Disappear Completely-Radiohead<p>

_In a little while I'll be gone,  
><em>_The moment's already passed.  
><em>_Yeah it's gone and I'm not here.  
><em>_This isn't happening;  
><em>_I'm not here;  
><em>_I'm not here._

* * *

><p>"I'm Sophie."<p>

A woman stood before them, a little shorter than River, with thick brown hair and big brown eyes you could drown in. Beside her was, the Doctor assumed, her boyfriend. He had a height of a good five or six inches above hers, with broad shoulders and a kind smile. Nothing marked them as extraordinarily remarkable, but if the Doctor had learned anything in his thousand or so years, it was that any and every person in the universe was extraordinary.

Sophie smiled. "And this is my boyfriend, John." She stuck out her arm and shook River's hand enthusiastically. "You two are _amazing_. I mean that. With the door-blasting and the gun-wielding and the bad guy-ass-kicking. Honestly, amazing."

River laughed and spun her alpha meson blaster in a circle before shoving it back into her utility belt. "Well, thank you. I'm River, and this-"

"-is the Doctor, yes, hello." He grinned, clapping his hands together. "I hate to be rude, but we're terribly busy, what with the whole mutiny and everything. So if you two lovely kids could just move along with the rest of the crowd to the nearest beam-me-up station, you'll be safe back home in no time. On you go!"

He reached forwards to pull the brunette in the direction of the exiting crowd, but she slapped his hand away with a sharp smack. Her boyfriend laughed, and clapped the Doctor on his back. "Sorry mate, you're not going to reason with her. The woman's impossible."

Sophie rolled her eyes, but not without affection.

River flashed the other woman a smile, motioning towards the Doctor. "Oh don't worry, darling, he knows all about impossible women."

A grin. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

The Doctor sighed, glanced at a smirking River, then turned his attention back to the couple. "What do you two know about spaceship schematics?"

"A lot, actually," John piped up. The Doctor gave him a curious stare, and watched as the man blushed a faint shade of red. "What? I'm a ship mechanic, I fix and fiddle with engines. Nothing like a good bit of hands-on tinkering."

The bow-tie wearer laughed. "I think I like you."

After a short exchange of basic communicators and plans, the group split up. The two women were to find the ship's mainframe control area while the men discovered the engine room and set about re-wiring the communications array. Once the Doctor had full control of the electrics, River and Sophie had the task of calming down the feuding crew members and higher-ups.

The Doctor and John found the engine room without much difficulty, and they both discovered they enjoyed the other's company. Often traveling with women, the Doctor forgot how much he delighted in another man now and then, and John was anything but difficult to get along with. The man, though still relatively young in his years, could strike up a conversation about anything with the knowledge of an expert. The Doctor wasn't far from wondering if he should ask River if she would mind the couple's company for a few trips.

River and Sophie met their task with a few more obstacles; the panicking passengers did little to calm the pair's anxiety, though the dazed masses did allow for easier access to the primary flight deck. When the women reached the door, River slid out her gun and aimed it at the doorknob. With a wry smile at her companion, she fired one shot and burst in through the smoking lock.

"How the hell did you get in-" One particularly burly-looking crew member stared straight at the two women, then the gun, then the broken lock. "And what are you two girls doing in here?"

Sophie glanced around the room, hiding her fear with a feigned yawn. Oh, River liked her. "Oh, is this the flight deck? Sorry, thought it was the ladies room. You know how us _girls_ are, we get ever so confused."

River cocked her hip to the side, and flashed the room the grandest smile she could muster. "Well boys, as much as I love the whole display of masculinity, I really do, I think we ought to talk this little spat out before it turns into something really nasty."

The man barked a gruff laugh, pointing behind at one of his men to move towards the women. "Listen ladies, I don't know who you think you are, but this is my turf. The flight deck's no place for a woman neither, no matter how pretty her little lips are." He grinned. "Who knows, though, might be I have a better place for you two birds to hang out in. Namely, my quarters. Boys, restrain them."

Four men came towards them, wielding guns and balled-up fists. Sophie let out a small squeak before ducking to the ground, allowing for River to stretch and take them on with a flirtatious smile. "Come and get me, boys," she called out.

Sophie rolled herself into a ball to take up as little space as possible as River whirled around, dodging and punching and rolling from move to move with expert ease. She blocked a punch, hooked one of the men square in the jaw, and spun a kick that sent two of the four sprawled back and far away from their weapons.

One spit out a bloody tooth and lunged at her, fists primed and ready. But River was more than ready, and she dodged his lunge with a quick kick and well-placed punch that knocked the man unconscious. She had just enough time to switch her gun's settings to stun before another one barreled towards her, and River only had to point and shoot to have that one writhing on the ground, then sober and still to a temporary state of paralysis.

The other two exchanged a look and surrounded her, but before River could retaliate they spun towards her, guns about to set off rounds. Sophie bit her lip and flexed her legs forward, tripping one of the men so that his shots missed River and hit his cohort. Sophie stood up quickly and picked up the singed doorknob from the ground, holding it out in front of her as if it were a knife.

The man laughed, and pointed to his wounded men. "Let's talk, you say. Let's not have this escalate, you say. Well I say _no more_."

"Nice move there, Sophie," River smiled, completely ignoring the raging man standing mere meters away. "Never underestimate a girl in heels."

Sophie grinned shyly, and nodded towards the man. "So, what's got you so worked up, anyways?"

"People like you," he growled. "People who march into someone else's world and stake claims to things that don't belong to them."

River rolled her eyes. "Listen, I'd love to hear you ramble on about trifles for who knows how long, but I already have a man in my life who does that better than well. In fact, he is, at the moment, disarming your communications system and taking charge of the PA speakers to instruct the rest of the people aboard this ship the easiest, safest way home. So, all that's left to deal with here is you."

"Women," he snarled. "Think they know everything."

Something clicked in her mind and Sophie lowered her makeshift weapon, offering him a sad smile. "Have you ever been in love?"

Something flashed through his eyes then, a flicker of either light or darkness, before the ship's floor gave a sharp jolt that sent them sprawling on all fours. Feedback bristled the speakers before a young, determined voice came on the systems.

"Hello? Hello? It's the Doctor speaking, yes hello everyone, and mind you that's _the_ Doctor. And no, there's no name to go along with that, if it's the same to you. But that's beside the point; I hear there's a _mutiny_ on board. Now listen old chums, I'm all for rising up and empowerment, but it's different when somebody gets hurt. There are hundreds of people on board this ship, and I'm not leaving until every single person is safe at home drinking tea with their loved ones. And-" he paused, took a breath. "So, if you all could proceed to move towards the loading docks, I've got rescue ships dispatched to come take you all home in a few minutes."

River smiled to herself, raising herself from the ground and dusting off her clothes. Sophie gaped, awed by the sheer resolve that dripped from the Doctor's every word.

"Two of the most brilliant women ever known to have existed are currently, I'm sure, working out a few peace talks to make sure this doesn't happen again any time soon. Brilliant, lovely, nice hair - the very epitome of femme fatale-"

"Oh I hate you," River said, staring up at the ceiling.

A smile pervaded the voice. "-you don't, and so if you could all just walk calmly and quickly to the nearest exit, you'll be fine. River, Sophie: John and I will be with you in a few moments. River, keep that gun on stun. I won't be having any casualties today."

And then the voice was gone, and Sophie was coughing, hitting her chest with one fist. River tied her hair back into a ponytail and glanced over at the man from earlier, struggling to get to his feet. A small trail of blood leaked from one side of his stomach and River rushed forward, one hand on her gun, to offer her shoulder for him to lean on.

He grimaced, pushing her away, before almost falling back to the floor. River caught him before he could hit the ground and, despite his protests, helped him to a chair.

Sophie took off her jacket and walked over to help, wrapping it around the bleeding injury. He faintly pushed her hands away but she ignored him, bandaging the wound until it was no longer pulsing blood. River walked over to the shocked crew members, whispered something in each of their ears, and chuckled as they each turned bright red and fled the deck.

Sophie brushed the man's hair off his forehead, wiping away the forming sweat. "Don't worry," she said softly. "It's going to be okay."

"Get away," he growled, less fierce than before. "I don't want your help."

"But you need it," River said, coldly. "Now," she began, softer. "Let's talk about how we got here in the first place."

He frowned. "What's it to you?"

"Because people have died, that's why," came the booming answer from the entranceway. The Doctor stood, hands on hips, tall and proud and heroic. River ignored the girlish, excited flutter that spiked in her stomach and stood up straight, beckoning the men forwards.

"The Doctor, I assume," the man mused. "Why, you're nothing but a kid."

The Doctor shook his head, took a few steps into the room. "I'm really not, you know."

"Sophie," John breathed out, and made to come closer but Sophie shook her head, something unreadable passing through her eyes. "You're all right?"

"I'm fine, John," Sophie nodded. "But he's not."

River walked over to the Doctor and lay a gentle hand on his sleeve. He searched her eyes for something, brought his hand to her cheek, and smiled apologetically. "It's not the best of dates, I'll give you that."

River laughed. "You can make it up to me later."

He reddened, straightened his bow-tie, and walked over to Sophie and the wounded man. "Nice to see you again, Sophie."

The man coughed, a little blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "Are you done with your courtesies, or should I wait to die from old age?"

The Doctor frowned and moved to stand in front of him. "Why?"

"What?"

"You killed the captain. Why?"

He coughed again, and Sophie rushed to wipe up the blood, eyes brimming with tears. "He was a bastard."

"So you killed him?" Tone dry, unforgiving.

"I killed the son of a bitch because he stole my woman."

River rolled her eyes, her fingers flexing over her gun. "Because us ladies are just so passive, and we don't have any say in who we love or-"

The Doctor sent her a look that quieted her immediately, but not without a huff of exasperation. Sophie glanced over at John before looking back down at the man in her arms, stroking his hair. The man noticed and meant to say something before looking into her eyes and shoving her violently away.

"She was trying to help you," the Doctor said, cooly. "Which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for myself at the moment."

"I don't need a _woman's_ help." He spat out the word like a curse, an insult, and Sophie flinched as if he had struck her.

John gave her an inquisitive look. "Sophie, what's wrong?"

She walked over to her lover, wrapping her arms around his waist. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and sighed. He placed his hand on the small of her back and drew gentle circles.

River swallowed down her discomfort from the intimacy of the moment and turned back to the Doctor. "What are we going to do?"

The Doctor shifted his attention to her, away from the hurting man on the chair, and Sophie let out a small gasp at the sheer love the Doctor's gaze held. He looked at River with an infinite amount of tenderness, and his aged, timeless eyes spoke volumes to the curly-haired woman standing before him. John noticed too, and kissed the top of Sophie's forehead.

The man grunted, calling all of their attention back to him. "This is your fault, you know."

The Doctor furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"My stomach, the blood loss..." he trailed off. "Peace, you say. I say, give me a few minutes."

And just like that Sophie was at his side once more, fixing the bandage. Her fingers wound and unwound the fabric as quickly as they could before he hit her hands away again, spitting in her face. "I don't want help from whores like you," he growled.

John rushed to the chair, fists up. "What did you call her?"

The Doctor held his hands up carefully, trying to diffuse the tension with a strained, pained voice. "Come now, party's over. He's dying, let him have his peace."

John ignored him. "What did you call her?"

Sophie put her hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him down. "Darling, please."

The man laughed cruelly.

River shot at the ceiling, causing silence to settle throughout the room. All eyes focused on her, but River was only looking at the man in the chair. "What's your name?" she asked.

His eyes widened, and he set his jaw. "What's in a name?" he mused, dryly.

Sophie placed her hand on his shoulder, trying again to reach some deeply-hidden kindness, but he swatted her arm away, harder this time. The blow sent her reeling, and she hit the ground with an alarmingly hard smack.

"How dare you touch her!" John cried out, punching him in the stomach.

"John!" The Doctor shouted, watching as River rushed to the other woman's side, checking for injury. River shook her head, waving away the Doctor's worry. "John, step away from him."

John wound up, punching him again.

The man spit out blood, laughing. "Fool. She'll only leave you."

John made to hit him again but this time he was ready, and wrenched the hidden gun up from his side and shot once, twice, flat in John's chest.

He stumbled back, clutching his torso, as River snapped into action and kicked the gun away, only to look down and see the man draw his last breath. She stepped away in disgust as the Doctor stepped forward, checking for signs of life. "No no no," he whispered. "Not today, not anymore."

River turned to check on John and bit her cheek when she saw him paling, saw the angle at which the bullets had entered. She glanced at Sophie and shook her head sadly.

Sophie crawled over to John, fighting her bruises. "You're hurt," she whispered, stroking his cheek.

He winced. "You are too."

She shook her head and kept on stroking his face. "I'll live."

He laughed, despite the blood seeping out of his chest. "I don't think I will."

Sophie kissed his forehead, ignoring the tears that stung her eyes like a prick to the finger. She smoothed small circles on his skin, tracing letters of love over a thin film of sweat. "Don't say things like that. Not to me."

River reached for the Doctor's hand, and squeezed.

Sophie took John's face in her hands, looking him squarely in the eye. "You're going to get through this. I'm not ready to let you go."

John managed a crooked smile. "Never can bear to lose a battle, can you?"

"I don't want you to," she croaked, fighting back a sob. "Win. Win for me, John. Beat death. If anyone can do it, it's you. I know you, and you aren't giving up."

He lifted a hand to her shoulder, not without effort. "Giving in isn't the same as giving up."

A tear splattered onto his chest. "It is for me."

River held back a gasp and looked over to the dead man, to distract herself from the pain before her. She had witnessed enough death and calamity to last her a lifetime. She took off the man's shirt and covered his face, her own stoic and impassive.

The Doctor wavered, unsure of what to do, and looked to River for help. She smiled sadly and motioned for him to move farther away from the couple.

"Sophie, I need you to know, before I go-"

"-don't talk like that, John, don't give in."

He grimaced. "I'm sorry, I haven't yet learned how to command my body to fix lethal wounds."

"Lethal," she choked, kissing his hair.

"Sophie," he mumbled, reaching up to fix her gaze with his. "I love you. And I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. And I guess I will have."

Tears wet her cheek and spilled onto his chest, mixing with cotton. "John," she whispered. "Please."

"Promise me you'll find someone else."

River closed her eyes, curling her body into the Doctor's side, and waited for the tide to pass. The Doctor, in a rare moment of possessiveness, placed one hand on the small of her back and shifted his arms around her, tucking his chin on top of her bed of curls. It took River a moment to realize the tears on her cheek were not her own.

Sophie choked back another sob. "John, don't ask me to do that."

He managed a cheeky grin. "I won't have you turn yourself into a crazy old cat lady. Not on my watch."

She let out a strangled, pained laugh.

"I love you, Sophie," he said weakly, weaker than before. "And don't keep yourself from loving someone else." He nodded towards the Doctor and River, smiling painfully. "Take good care of her, Doctor. And don't wait until your deathbed to let her know how much you love her. Besides, she already knows."

River snorted into his chest, smiling into the cotton of his shirt.

Sophie stroked his cheek again, crying. "I love you, John. I always will."

He smiled, and with his last stroke of effort, brushed his fingertips against her cheek. "Don't forget me."

"Never," she whispered, but he was already gone.

She collapsed on top of him, cradling him in her arms. The Doctor tightened his hold on River, nearly choking her, and she hugged him back just as tightly.

The next couple of hours went by in a daze. Sophie, all cried out, watched with a face of stone as crew members took John away on a stretcher. River and the Doctor offered her a ride home but she denied them, opting instead to take a private shuttle. They said their goodbyes uncomfortably, neither knowing what exactly to say to Sophie. She didn't seem to hear what they were saying anyways, though, and so the couple trudged back to the TARDIS, hand-in-hand, with a weight on their hearts.

When the doors shut safely behind them and the old girl was sent hurtling through the vortex, River and the Doctor rushed to each other, ripping off clothing and kissing each other fiercely. They barely made it to his bed before collapsing onto each other, pulling and pushing and stroking and weeping.

Tears greeted their kisses and ran down their skin, blending with the joining of their bodies and speaking the truths neither could bear to say.

They held each other that night without ever saying a word


End file.
